


The Book of Wants and Needs

by Shrift (LFN_Archivist)



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 62,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFN_Archivist/pseuds/Shrift
Summary: This story was originally posted to the LFN Storyboard Archives by Shrift.





	The Book of Wants and Needs

**Author's Note:**

> This is an epic, NC-17 suburban nooky saga. It was written over a period of six months, and contains a hefty amount of stupid inside jokes that may or may not pertain to its predecessor, Push and Pull. Although this is not my magnum opus, it is long. Very long. ;-) Enjoy.

Nikita combed her hair back ruthlessly into a haphazard top knot and tried to ignore the deep ache in her joints. She felt like she was dragging another body behind her as she approached Walter's station. When Nikita reached the counter, she began stripping off the well-worn weaponry from her latest mission. The metal gate clicked up. 

"Sugar!" 

"Hey, Walter," Nikita greeted, clunking another glock onto Walter's previously pristine counter. 

" _You_ look like hell," Walter rasped and stood across the counter from her. Nikita tried to give the old man a fierce glare and failed miserably, dissolving into a tired giggle. 

"Nice to see you, too," Nikita sighed, sluggishly bringing up her arm to wipe the tears from the corners of her hot eyes. 

"You got yourself one hell of a tan," Walter whistled, readjusting his tie-dyed bandanna to get a better leer. "Where'd they have you, sugar?" 

"Pakistan. I never want to smell curry again." 

Walter chuckled and brought his supplies around. He picked up pieces of her discarded gear and stripped them down. "I'd say you were lucky. Michael got in this morning. Wherever they sent him, it was monsoon season." 

"Michael's here?" Nikita's eyes lifted from her disconsolate perusal of her dust-caked boots. 

Walter nodded, noting with mixed emotions the faint blush of color appearing on her skin. Her skin was too pale under the coppery tone she had brought back. 

"Yeah. He's been holed up with Operations and Madeline for about an hour." 

The tight knot between her shoulder blades eased as the chance of seeing Michael washed over her. Nikita hadn't so much seen Michael's face since that week after the Pfizer mission. Her last memory of him had been a potent one; she and Michael had brought one of her dream-fantasies to life with a pair of suede chaps. The subsequent rush of blood at the memory of Michael's powerful body and his intense appreciation of the suede set her ears buzzing. 

That had been months ago. After the Pfizer mission, Section had been gripped by a flurry of activity. Nikita hadn't had more than a few hours of down time since the rapid-fire burst of terrorist attacks had begun. Like the well-oiled machine it was, Section had geared up for the attacks; hollow-eyed operatives stumbled drunkenly through the halls to collapse onto cots for a few hours of precious sleep, only to be roused when the next mission went live. 

Michael will be in the thick of it, Nikita thought. He always is. 

>From the rumors and news she had gleaned of him, Michael had been running on less than ten hours of sleep a week for the duration. He slept during transport only; when he arrived back in Section, he would go straight to his office and immediately begin work on other profiles. 

Nikita was worried for him. No, it was more than that. She _missed_ him. 

"You all right, sugar?" 

Nikita shook her head and blinked. From the concerned expression on Walter's lined face, she guessed that she had been spacing out on him for several minutes. 

"I'm just tired. All I want to do right now is take a shower and fall into bed," Nikita told him. She pushed away from Walter's counter and grinned at his lecherous glance. "Alone, Walter." 

That's a lie, Nikita thought. I'd do just about anything right now if I could haul Michael home with me. 

"Sorry, Nikita," Birkoff's soft voice was apologetic. "You can't leave yet. Operations and Madeline want to see you." 

************ 

Nikita blinked blearily as she entered her code on the pad beside Madeline's office door. She stepped through a moment after it slid open and clomped down the stairs. 

I hope I track dirt everywhere, Nikita thought childishly. 

When she could pull her eyes from the floor, reasonably sure she wouldn't fall over, a familiar tableau reached her eyes. Madeline sat regally behind her desk and Operations paced near her orchids. Michael reclined in the far chair in front of Madeline's desk. 

The cells in her body cried out in ecstatic recognition. She took a snapshot of him and wrenched her eyes away. A second later she plopped herself down in the other chair. 

His hair was longer, curling below his ears. There were smudges beneath his eyes and his face seemed thinner, more angular. The stiff way he held himself in the chair hinted at injury. 

Nikita would have liked nothing more than to sit and swallow Michael with her eyes for hours on end, but not with an audience like the two vultures staring at her now. 

"Nikita," Madeline greeted mildly. 

"Madeline," Nikita responded. 

Maybe if I'm polite, they'll get to the point, Nikita thought. 

"We know this is rather sudden, but now that the rate of missions is decreasing we have a unique situation that needs to be handled," Operations announced. 

Nikita held her head stiffly, forcing her muscles to resist Michael's magnetic pull. He wouldn't show a reaction in Madeline's office to the information. She needed to wait. 

"Which is?" Nikita drawled at Operations' silence. 

"The Agency has asked to investigate a possible security leak. In a neighborhood with a high concentration of Agency employees, there have been three accidental deaths of fairly high-placed agents." 

"Why Section?" Nikita asked. "Can't this be handled internally?" 

"Well, that's the point, Nikita," Madeline finally spoke. "If it's an internal problem, the Agency doesn't want the security leak to know he's been compromised." 

"He?" Michael said softly. 

Madeline typed in a sequence on her keyboard and brought up a picture of an austere, gray-haired man. "Martin Nelson. The Agency suspects him of working under the aegis of a hostile government, but have been unable to find any solid proof. He is unmarried and lives in the neighborhood where the deaths have occurred." 

"Weaknesses?" he said. 

"Yes. Mr. Nelson likes to watch," Madeline replied. "Nikita, you and Michael will move in next door to the target as a newlywed couple...with exhibitionist tendencies." Madeline smiled slightly at the pair of stone faces sitting across from her. 

"So I'm to play the good, little nymphomaniac housewife?" Nikita drawled finally. 

"For all outward appearances," Madeline agreed. 

"We have reason to believe Mr. Nelson works for a group called Red Fist," Operations said, moving to stand behind Madeline. 

The symbol for 'no quarter,' Nikita thought. How original. 

"Red Fist has stepped up their recruiting. In the past months, the group has claimed responsibility for a number of embassy bombings and assassinations," Madeline said, picking up on Operations' thread. "A small, but lucrative, set of friendly governments and Section contacts has been eliminated. You and Michael will need to keep up two facades: mercenaries posing as ordinary suburban couple." 

"This is an unusual opportunity to do the Agency a favor while pursuing our own interests," Operations warned. "Failure in either scenario is not an option. I want hard intel to indict Nelson, and I want you to infiltrate Red Fist. Do you understand?" 

"Yeah," Nikita said, a slow grin curving her lips. "I'm to play the good, little nymphomaniac housewife...with a gun." 

************ 

Nikita was bored. 

She had moved into the middle class neighborhood on Sunday without Michael, directing the movers to place the furniture Madeline had picked out inside the Cape Cod house. The Section movers had taken care of everything, leaving only a box of mementos on the kitchen table for Nikita to place on her own. 

Nikita moved through the large, empty house, trailing her fingers across the new photographs of her and Michael. After the briefing, Madeline had directed them to get some sleep and report to her office early the next morning. Madeline had dressed her and Michael up in various outfits; the resulting photos displayed throughout the house were of their false wedding and honeymoon at some sunlit locale. Some digital retouching had tanned Michael's skin to match hers. Nikita stopped in front of her favorite, an impromptu photo session in a bar. She and Michael were casually dressed and sitting at a table, his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder. 

They look genuine enough, Nikita thought, moving away to perch on the overstuffed couch in the living room. 

To say that she had enjoyed the photo session with Michael wasn't quite accurate. She loved being close to him, to reassure herself that he was alive and relatively well. But there had been a tension in Michael's eyes; he had wanted to talk to her, but Operations had kept him running. 

The resulting pictures were also a reminder of what Nikita could never have. 

Nikita sighed and drew her knees up onto the couch. Michael wasn't due to arrive until Friday, and she hadn't seen him since their last briefing in Madeline's office. She had her own reservations about the mission. Nikita didn't relish _performing_ for some peeping tom. How she and Michael were going to finesse their way into Martin Nelson's good graces and thus into his home computer and files had been left unclear. _Especially_ when she was supposed to be baking cookies and fluffing pillows in between knocking people off. 

I definitely need to talk to Michael, Nikita frowned. 

Nikita had rattled about in the house all day yesterday, scouring it exhaustively for bugs and surveillance cameras. She hadn't discovered any, but Nikita didn't rule out the possibility. She got out to familiarize herself with the neighborhood and to pick up some groceries and a few books. Desperate, she had even gone down into the windowless basement and worked out on the equipment that Section had installed. But, as with the Armel mission so long ago, Nikita felt very bored and very alone. Suburbia was too far removed from her world. She didn't relish housework, by any means, and Nikita had yet to meet any of her neighbors. 

"Two and a half more days," Nikita said aloud. 

There was a tentative knock at the back door. Nikita scrambled to her feet and crossed through the kitchen. She lifted the curtain and saw the smiling face of a pretty, middle-aged woman staring back at her. Nikita clicked open the lock and swung open the door. 

"Hi, I'm Tracy Ramsey," the woman said, sticking out her hand. Nikita grasped her warm palm. When she released it, the woman jerked her thumb at the house behind her. "I'm your neighbor. We sort of share a backyard." 

"I'm Nikita. Would you like to come in?" Nikita asked hesitantly. She supposed it was because of Carla's betrayal that Nikita felt nervous around people claiming to be her next-door neighbors. 

"I'd love to." Tracy followed Nikita into the kitchen, tugging at her ponytail. 

Nikita seated herself at the kitchen table. "Have a seat." 

"I saw the trucks on Sunday. I wanted to come over then, but I thought maybe you'd like to settle in first," Tracy chatted, placing her short, plump frame on the high-backed chair. 

"I wish you had. My husband's on a business trip and..." 

"How long have you been married?" Tracy asked slyly, her eyes flashing in merriment. 

"Only a month," Nikita replied, warming to the older woman despite her reservations. She stood up to make herself some tea. "Can I get you something to drink?" 

Tracy waved her hand. "Nothing for me, please! So, no wonder you looked so lost when I came to the door." Tracy laughed and craned around in the chair to speak to Nikita. "When does he get back, dear?" 

Nikita made a face. "Not until Friday." 

"Is that him?" Tracy was up and out of her chair, examining the wedding picture on the wall. 

"Yeah." 

"Oh, he's a looker," Tracy laughed and returned to the kitchen table. "You'd better watch out for Amy Muldoon. She's the resident divorcee and man-eater." 

"I'm not worried," Nikita replied, smiling back over the rim of her cup. 

************ 

Nikita was feeling better. When she had gone jogging yesterday morning, she had met up with the woman who lived across the street. Lydia Johannson was about the same age as Nikita, and almost as physically fit. For companionship and safety, Nikita had offered to jog with Lydia every morning. She had enthusiastically agreed and had run with her the past two mornings. Her last two dinners had been spent at the raucous table of Tracy Ramsey. Tracy's husband, George, had rolled his eyes over the squabbling heads of their three children. 

Nikita liked spending time with them, seeing how a real family worked. 

She still yearned to see Michael. He was supposed to arrive sometime soon. Nikita checked the clock on the wall and hugged her knees closer to her chest. 

Nikita jerked her eyelids open at the shrill ring of the telephone. 

"Hello?" she said breathlessly into the receiver, her heart thudding against her ribs in a startled staccato. 

"Mrs. Christophe?" 

It's Birkoff, Nikita thought. Don't jump to any conclusions. 

"Yes," she said. 

"Your husband wanted me to call and tell you he is being detained at the office. He'll try to make it home later in the evening." 

"Oh," Nikita said, pouring every bit of the bitter disappointment she felt into the syllable. If anyone was monitoring the line other than Section, she would sound exactly like a woman wanting her man to come home. 

Nikita jabbed her finger through the coiled telephone cord. "How late did he say he would be?" 

"Mr. Christophe should be home before midnight," Birkoff's voice assured her. 

"Thanks," Nikita snapped into the receiver and slammed the handle down onto the hook. She pushed her lip out mulishly and climbed the stairs to the bedroom. Nikita grumbled under her breath as she changed into her sports bra and spandex shorts. 

Nikita continued grumbling as she clambered down into the basement and began pounding on the heavy bag. After a few good hits, she calmed down and stretched. 

Then she started her workout in earnest. 

After an intense hour, Nikita backed off the heavy bag and brushed her sweaty bangs out of her eyes. 

"Okay, so I'm a _possessive_ good, little nymphomaniac housewife with a gun," she said out loud, grinning at herself. 

I'd better shower and take a nap, Nikita thought as she ascended the stairs. I want to be _well-rested_ when Michael finally shows up. 

************ 

Nikita came awake suddenly, feeling her cheek pressed against a warm cotton pillow case. She pushed herself up with her arms and threw a sleep-narrowed gaze out the window. Dark. Very dark. 

"What--" Nikita mumbled aloud, slumping back down onto her stomach. 

Then she knew. She felt him. 

Michael was home. 

Nikita levered herself out of bed and threw on her terry cloth robe, rushing for the stairs. She saw the headlights of Michael's car flash across the front windows as he pulled into the driveway. Nikita vaulted onto the couch to watch Michael's progress from the car, her knees digging into the soft cushions. 

He opened the door slowly, pulling out a suitcase and briefcase and stepping out with his hands laden. Michael shut the car door quietly. Nikita saw his head lean back to look at the second story, but the lack of a moon shrouded his features in shadow. Nikita held still as Michael passed the window as he advanced up the sidewalk. 

When she heard his lightly thudding steps on the porch, Nikita slipped off the couch and padded barefoot across the hardwood floor. She pressed her ear to the door and heard a small clunk and a jingle. Nikita's lips curved in a smile, picturing Michael fishing for his keys. A key rasped into the lock from the outside. 

Nikita flipped the bolt, unhooked the chain, and flung the door open wide. 

Michael stood on the other side, briefcase in his left hand, with a faintly bemused look on his face. 

"Brace yourself," Nikita warned. She saw confusion flare in his eyes before complying as Nikita catapulted herself forward into his arms. The solid impact of her body against his chest forced a small grunt from him; Michael leaned back against the wooden beam of the porch and clasped his hands over Nikita's terry-clothed derriere. 

Nikita pressed her lips against his, their mouths opening and melding with a sensual heat. Her tongue rubbed against the velvety interior of Michael's mouth, entwining with his tongue. 

"Hi," she breathed when they came up for air. 

Michael chuckled and settled her more firmly against his hips. Nikita clasped her long legs around his waist more tightly and ran her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. 

"Miss me?" he murmured, nuzzling at her neck. 

"Mmm..." Nikita's head lolled back. "Yeah." 

Michael moved forward and Nikita slid down his body just inside the door. Michael turned around and collected his suitcase and briefcase, setting them on the hardwood floor and kicking the door shut behind him. 

Nikita slammed him against the closed door and raised her face to capture his lips again, but the cloudiness in his gray-green eyes stopped her. 

"Ni-ki-ta," he said. Nikita's breath caught in her throat and her stomach bottomed out. 

_He was asking if she really wanted him._

Men have such fragile egos, Nikita thought. With only a _little_ scorn. 

"It's not for the mission," she whispered into his right ear, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "I want you." Nikita nipped at his ear lobe. "The truth is, Michael," she continued, moving her attention to his full lips. "I'll take you any way I can get you." 

When Michael remained unresponsive, Nikita sighed and took a small step back. He reached sideways and flipped the bolt on the door, his eyes a gleaming green. 

"Then take me." 

************ 

Nikita let out a low moan and pressed herself forward against the long length of Michael's body. Her hands crept upward and she slipped Michael's charcoal jacket from his shoulders, pulling him away from the door and settling him back once the cloth slithered to the ground. 

She took her time loosening his striped tie, pulling it gently over his collar. Nikita smiled up at his glowing eyes as she undid the top button of his dress shirt. She slipped her fingers inside his collar and, with a strength borne of her physical regimen and hunger for the man in front of her, she ripped open his shirt. Buttons clattered and rolled over the hardwood floor. 

Nikita eased the ruined shirt over Michael's muscled shoulders and then turned her attention to his belt buckle. She pulled the belt from its loops and tossed it over her shoulder. 

"Take off your shoes," she purred into his ear. Michael's mouth twitched, but he kicked his shoes off and peeled off his socks as Nikita's fingers were busy unbuttoning the snap of his pants. She moved down him in a swift movement, leaving his pants puddled at his bared feet. 

Nikita grabbed Michael's tie, still tied loosely about his neck, and pulled him into the carpeted living room. 

"Lie back," she whispered. A sly grin took up residence under her heated gaze. Michael allowed her to push him to the carpet; Nikita straddled his thighs. "Let me look...at you." Nikita shrugged out of her robe and threw it behind her; there was a muffled thud as the robe knocked something off the coffee table. She grasped the hem of her sheer night gown and pulled it over her head, arching her back and taking her weight from Michael's legs. 

Nikita heard Michael's soft grunt and looked down at him, her hair coming to rest over her shoulders. He had propped himself up on his elbows and was returning her heated gaze in full measure. His arousal pressed against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Nikita leaned forward, putting most of her weight on her arms, and began to explore Michael's body. 

She dropped soft kisses on his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his stubbled cheeks. Nikita gave him a wet, searching kiss on the mouth, tangling her tongue with his. She continued to move downward, nibbling at his chin and sucking at the cords of his neck. Nikita pressed a soft kiss at the base of Michael's throat, where his pulse was beating rapidly. Her deft fingers unknotted his tie and she tossed it at one of the potted plants. Nikita nuzzled her way across his left shoulder and down his arm, dropping kisses on the soft skin of his elbow and wrist. She repeated the actions on his other arm. 

Nikita moved her attentions to his chest, nipping at his flat nipples and leaving a wet trail of kisses down his abdomen. By the time she reached Michael's navel, his breathing had become erratic. Nikita pushed on, kissing the valleys where his hips joined to his waist. Nikita ignored his hard arousal, only brushing it with her soft curtain of hair. She grinned up at Michael, feeling a warm spike of pleasure at her core when his bright eyes unflinchingly met her gaze. Nikita rubbed her lips down his inner thigh and pulled his leg up to kiss the soft skin at the back of his knee. 

"Ni-ki-ta," he rasped. 

Michael was trembling ever so slightly and was sheened with sweat; Nikita realized with a start that she was none too steady herself. She prowled back up his body and kissed him hungrily, his lips hard and demanding. 

"Had enough?" she teased, swaying over his tense body. His lids dropped and Michael levered himself up; he caressed her neck with his tongue. Nikita gasped and closed her eyes when he scraped his teeth at the base of her neck. "I guess that answers my question." 

Michael's strong hands wrapped around her waist and guided her over him. Nikita plunged down, arching her back as his pulsating arousal filled her. She threaded her fingers through his hair as Michael's head dipped down. He drew lazy circles around her tightening nipples with his hot tongue, taking her into his mouth at her whimper. His callused thumb rubbed over her neglected breast as Nikita rocked rhythmically against him. 

"More," she growled, pulling his head up and claiming his mouth. She could feel Michael's lips curve into a grin. He wrapped his arms around her hips and helped her increase the power of their thrusts. Nikita twisted her hips, increasing the friction against her inner walls. Michael groaned into her neck and she felt him grow even larger inside her. 

"More," Nikita growled again, using her strong legs to propel herself off him with more force. Her hands moved down his back and curved around his muscled buttocks, pulling herself down on him viciously. "Not enough," she gasped. 

Michael lunged forward and Nikita felt the rough carpet on her naked back. He slammed into her, balancing all his weight on his arms and toes. Nikita grunted at the contact and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. 

"More?" he whispered into her ear, biting her ear lobe. 

"Yes," she hissed, bucking her hips up forcefully to meet his thrusts. Michael began stroking into her with a hard, staccato burst. "Yes," she groaned as he did it again. Nikita's nails dug into his back as the painful ache in her groin burst and blossomed open. Her nails scraped down Michael's back as her orgasm took her. Nikita's back arched and she forgot to breathe as dark spots edged her vision. Her blood sang in her ears, and Nikita dimly noticed Michael's final, powerful thrust into her. She welcomed his weight as he collapsed onto her, lips nuzzling her sensitized throat. Nearly a minute later, Nikita's nerve ends were still buzzing, her eyes glassy. 

She was just starting to come down from the sensory high when she felt Michael's muscles shift; she wrapped her arms and legs around him to hold him in place. 

"Mine," she said drowsily, closing her eyes at Michael's soft chuckle in her ear. 

************ 

"Come on in, Lydia," Nikita said, opening the door wider. "Um, please ignore the mess. I'm running late." 

Lydia walked inside the house, her attention drawn to the floor as a button skidded across the wood. Lydia cast her eyes around the hall and living room, grinning slyly up at Nikita when she saw the rumpled heaps of clothing. The laughing expression in her eyes was clear: _I know what_ you _did last night._

Nikita heard Lydia's giggling as she followed her up the stairs. "I'll just be a minute," she said, ducking into the bathroom. 

Lydia leaned against the door frame and stifled a yawn. "No hurry. We might as well let the sun come up." 

Nikita smiled at her quickly and pulled her hair back into a haphazard ponytail. When she splashed water on her face and started patting her cheeks dry with a towel, Nikita realized it wasn't just the clothes that had given her away. Her throat and cheeks above her sports bra were slightly abraded. Beard burn. Not only that, Nikita's lips were swollen and she had a supremely smug expression on her face. 

Lydia moved into the bathroom behind Nikita, headed for the lip of the tub so she could sit down. Nikita whirled at her gasp. 

Damn, Nikita thought. I left the door to the bedroom open. 

She moved behind Lydia; for a moment, the sight of Michael mesmerized her. He was sprawled on his back in the king size bed, one hand fisted under the pillow behind his curly head. The other hand was splayed across his ridged abdomen, fortuitously covering a yellowed bruise along his ribs. Nikita's eyes traveled down to his heavy thighs and angular calves before settling again on his full lips. Nikita experienced a moment of pure female appreciation of his lithe body, and relief that she had pulled a corner of the sheet across Michael's hips before she had left the room. Light spilled in through a window, slanting across Michael's face. The golden beams erased the tired shadows under his eyes and illuminated the tan he had picked up since Nikita had last seen him. 

Lydia's deep sigh broke Nikita's reverie. She skirted her neighbor and pulled the adjoining door shut. Nikita turned, the knob pressing into her lower back, and smiled. Lydia's eyes were bright and she was uncontrollably wetting her lips. 

Lydia nodded towards the closed door. "Is that..." 

"My husband," Nikita confirmed, taking pity on Lydia and steering her down the stairs. "Don't worry. You'll regain your powers of speech in a couple of minutes." 

Lydia threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, God...I hope so!" She halted in front of their wedding portrait and shook her head. "None of the pictures do him justice." 

Nikita simply smiled at her. The possessiveness which had infuriated her had evaporated with Michael's arrival. He was hers. She was his. She could only muster up a knowing amusement at Lydia's reddened cheeks as they stretched on the porch. 

I don't know how I could have forgotten that, Nikita thought. 

************ 

Michael stirred long after the door clicked shut downstairs, his hand creeping across the sheets. Michael's eyes cracked open when his fingers encountered the cool, and very empty, impression Nikita's body had left. He closed his eyes again and trained his ears to the sounds of the house. A faint creaking. A car sputtering to life down the street. 

No Nikita. 

Michael sighed softly and swung his legs over the side of the bed, padding to the walk-in closet. Nikita's clothes were hung in a jumble on the left side, shoes piled and overturned underneath the hems. 

The other side, neat and austere, held an array of suits and ironed dress shirts. Michael moved a few steps forward, running his hand along the gray and navy shoulders of the suit jackets. He stopped in front of a hanger at the end, a smile curving his lips. Michael slid the pair of worn jeans off the hanger and pulled them on, leaving the top snap unbuttoned. 

He left the closet with a fond backward glance at Nikita's mess and descended the stairs to the kitchen. Michael touched his hand to the scrawled note held to the refrigerator door by a magnet shaped like a pair of pink sunglasses. 

_"Went running. Love, N."_

Michael rested his elbow on the open door of the refrigerator and poked his head inside, rummaging around for food to make breakfast. 

Outside, Nikita was doing cool-down stretches with Lydia. 

"Are you sure you don't want to come in?" 

Lydia laughed and began backpedaling down the sidewalk. "No. I know when I'm not wanted." 

"You'll have to come by later and actually talk to him," Nikita said, raising her voice. 

Lydia's short, black ponytail bobbed again with laughter. "Why is that?" 

"He's French." 

Nikita grinned at Lydia's melodramatic sigh as she waved and crossed the street to her brick house. She opened the door quietly and slipped inside, only to be greeted with the sounds and smells of someone cooking. 

Michael's naked back was visible over the counter, complete with the red scratches she had marked him with last night. Nikita's breath snagged in her throat until she walked into the kitchen. 

Oh, she thought. He's wearing jeans. 

She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his neck through a mass of cinnamon curls. "Good morning." 

Michael drew her around and clasped her to his side with one hand, the other hand tending the enormous omelet in the frying pan. His mouth met her upturned face in a languorous kiss. 

"Hungry?" he asked, caressing her lycra-covered hip. 

"I...am...starving," Nikita answered, punctuating every word with a playful kiss to Michael's lips. 

"So am I." 

************ 

Nikita's stomach rumbled against Michael's hip and he chuckled into her ear. 

"Food first," he murmured. Michael pulled away and walked around the counter with the steaming pan; he cut the omelet in two with a spatula and placed it on the plates already waiting on the table. Nikita leaned back against the refrigerator and watched Michael pour orange juice. He put the pan back on the stove and threaded his fingers through hers, drawing her to the table. 

Nikita pulled her chair up to the table and dug into the omelet, forking a large piece into her mouth. "Mmm. I could get used to this." She kicked off her running shoes and socks and settled her feet in Michael's warm lap. "You made quite an impression on Lydia this morning." 

Michael's hand stopped halfway to his full-lipped mouth. "Lydia?" 

Nikita stifled a giggle as Michael's accent caressed Lydia's name. 

Lydia _definitely_ needs to talk to Michael, she thought. 

"She lives across the street. We run in the mornings. I was late today, and she came upstairs to wait." 

Michael put his fork down and gave her a curious stare. 

"She saw you in bed," Nikita added, grinning when Michael sat back in his chair and cocked his head. She leaned forward and tucked an errant curl behind his ear. "You were tired." 

Michael blessed her with one of his sweet smiles. Nikita's grin stretched at the message hidden in his glittering eyes. 

_You wore me out._

"And?" he prompted, cutting another piece of his omelet with the side of his fork. 

Nikita sucked in a gasp as Michael's fingers began stroking the back of her calf. "She was speechless." 

And so was I, but I'm not going to tell _him_ that, Nikita thought wickedly. 

The sight of Michael sprawled across the bed forced itself before her eyes, and Nikita began shoveling the food into her mouth. Michael raised a quizzical eyebrow at her as he sipped at his orange juice. She polished off the last piece and swung her legs from his lap. 

"Come on," she ordered, holding out her hand. "I'll feed you later." 

Michael stood up slowly, casting an eye at his half-finished breakfast. "Where are we going?" 

Nikita preceded him up the stairs, putting Michael's hands on her hips. "We're going to see if two people can fit into our tub." 

************ 

Nikita turned the taps for the shower and divested herself of her sweaty running clothes. She jumped in the shower while Michael was still peeling his jeans off. When he stepped into the tub after her, Nikita thrust a bottle of shampoo into his hands. 

"Wash my hair?" she asked innocently. 

Michael immediately squirted the shampoo into his palm, but the gleam in his eyes told her she would pay for it later. 

And I'm counting on it, Nikita thought. 

She turned her back to him and leaned in against his hard chest. Michael's lean fingers began working the shampoo into a lather, methodically massaging her scalp. Nikita sighed as he worked the lather gently down to the ends of her hair and back up again. Michael turned her around and tilted her head back under the spray, supporting her neck with one hand. 

"You're good at this, Michael," Nikita murmured. "Were you a beautician before I met you?" 

Nikita jumped as Michael playfully slapped her on the rear. 

"Ouch!" Nikita craned her neck around the survey the damage, rubbing her hand over the faint red mark. "Are you gonna kiss it and make it better?" she demanded, slanting a mock glare at his face. 

Michael shrugged. "Maybe later. It's your turn." He shoved the shampoo bottle into her fingers and ducked his head under the spray. Nikita squirted a medallion of shampoo onto her palm and raised it to Michael's damp hair; he caught her wrist and sniffed delicately at the liquid. He released her hand with a sigh. "I'm going to smell like a fruit cocktail." 

"Good enough to eat," Nikita purred, kneading his scalp with her strong fingers. Michael smiled at her and closed his eyes to the lather trickling down his forehead. He settled his hands on her slick hips and drew her against his arousal. Nikita finished washing Michael's hair quickly and tilted his head back into the hot spray. She let her fingers wander over his face, moving down his forehead and nose. His lips pressed a kiss against her palm as she continued down, brushing her fingers along his neck, collarbone, abdomen. Michael's gray-green eyes opened slowly as Nikita's fingers reached his pulsing arousal. She tilted her head and nibbled droplets of water from Michael's chin, delighting in his body's reactionary twitch. 

Michael dropped his head and ran his tongue along the outline of her lips, biting her lower lip gently when she sighed in pleasure. He pressed butterfly kisses on her closed eyelids, nose, and cheeks. Michael's head dropped farther and he nuzzled her neck, alternately licking and biting his way down. Nikita wriggled teasingly against him. Michael retaliated by lowering his attentions to her breasts, blowing cool air over one nipple until it tightened painfully. He barely brushed his lips across the hardened bud, continuing until Nikita threaded her fingers through his damp curls and pressed him to her. Michael took her nipple between his teeth, tugging gently. 

"Michael," Nikita whimpered, arching her neck back. He flicked his tongue out and circled the aureole before finally taking her into his mouth. Michael suckled until her fingers tightened in his hair and he moved on to her other breast, repeating his actions with excruciating slowness. 

She tugged his head up. "Michael," she gasped again, her tone demanding. 

He nibbled on her lower lip. "Yes, Ni-ki-ta?" he teased. 

Her eyes narrowed and she ran her hands down his broad back to cup his muscled buttocks. She pulled herself flush against him, tilting her hips with a soft slap of wet skin. 

"Now," she demanded. A breath later, Michael's arms went around her hips and he lifted her up. Nikita wrapped her arms around his shoulders and moaned with pleasure as he lowered her down on him, filling her aching emptiness. The soft skin of her inner thighs hugged his muscled hips. Nikita groaned again as his muscles flexed when he turned to brace her back against the tiles. His callused hands began lifting her rhythmically, splayed across the curve of her rear. 

Again, when the heat and pressure began to build, Nikita felt like she couldn't get enough of Michael in her. Nikita used her upper-body strength to thrust with him, twisting her hips and clenching her muscles to increase the friction and the pace. They were both panting, the hot spray angling between their joined bodies. Nikita took more weight on her arms, allowing Michael to free up a hand. He slid his palm down from caressing her throat, delving into the apex of her thighs. Nikita gave a strangled gasp as his fingers found her clit and stroked a counterpoint to his thrusting hips. 

Nikita bucked convulsively and the world exploded behind her eyes. 

************ 

Nikita could imagine Michael's wrinkled nose as she capped the lilac-scented bath oil and set in on the edge of the tub. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him against her chest, tightening her hold around his waist with her legs. Nikita settled back with a sigh and idly caressed Michael's warm, silken skin. She had her back to one end of the tub and Michael was nestled between her legs, spoon-fashion. 

It's a tight fit, Nikita thought, her eyes wandering down his glistening body to their bent knees. 

Nikita hugged him closer and rested her chin against his temple. Michael continued to hypnotically caress the underside of one thigh. "Michael?" 

"Hmm?" he murmured sleepily. 

A thousand questions and statements were running through her mind about the mission, but Nikita didn't want to disturb the idyll they had established just yet. Instead, she said, "You're addictive." 

"It's the shampoo. Chicks dig the strawberry-kiwi shampoo," Michael informed her 

"Michael!" Nikita gasped, squeezing him with her thighs in her surprise. 

Michael leaned his head back onto her shoulder and closed his eyes. "That's what Walter told me." 

Nikita gave strangled giggle and began combing her fingers through Michael's drying hair. "Hello, Michael's sense of humor. I'm Nikita. I don't think we've ever been formally introduced." She stuck her bath-wrinkled hand in front of Michael's face. His eyes remained closed. 

"Enchante," he murmured, chastely kissing the knuckles on her right hand. Then, as if he reconsidered it, Michael brought her hand back to his mouth and suckled on the fleshy part between her thumb and forefinger. Nikita's giggle evaporated into a breezy sigh. 

"Now it's your turn to tell me how addictive _I_ am," Nikita said, catching her breath. 

"You are," Michael stated, caressing the back of her thigh again. All hints of teasing were gone from his tone. "I can't keep your hands off me." 

Nikita guffawed at Michael's deadpan delivery and smacked him on the shoulder. He took each of her hands in his own, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm and wrapping them more securely about his chest. They stayed that way, comfortably wedged in the tub, until the water grew cool. 

Nikita sighed in satisfaction as she watched Michael lever himself out of the tub of rapidly cooling bath water. He turned around and grasped her outstretched hands, pulling her to her feet and then lifting her over the lip of the tub. Michael snagged a towel and dumped it on top of her head, rubbing vigorously at her damp hair. 

"Michael!" Nikita spluttered, flailing at his arms. Finally, she reached around and gave him a pinch on one taut buttock. Michael slid the towel down and gently toweled off her back, pressing a kiss to her nose through a ragged curtain of blonde hair. Nikita glared mulishly at him through her hair, not bothering to push the mess out of her eyes. He knelt down and dried her legs, lifting her feet to wipe off the bottoms and between her toes. On his way back up, he kissed her on the rear where he had earlier slapped her. 

You're not getting off that easy, Nikita thought to herself. 

She took the towel from his fingers. At the gleam in her eye, Michael held up his hands and backed against the sink. Nikita shrugged and began spinning the towel into a rope. She flicked the towel out and it connected with Michael's hip with a resounding slap. He snatched the towel from her fingers and flung it around her hips, pulling her flush against him. Nikita eased her fingers down and caressed the red welt that was rising on Michael's hip. 

I'm going to pay for that one, Nikita thought in anticipation. 

"Remind me to never turn my back on you with a towel in your hands," Nikita murmured before his lips descended upon hers. 

Michael chuckled from the vicinity of her breasts. "You know I can't do that." 

************ 

Nikita breathed in deeply, nuzzling closer to the warm skin under her cheek. Michael's masculine smell was intermingled with a fruity, flowery scent. She felt his chest heave underneath her, and then realized what had brought her awake. Someone was knocking on the back door. Nikita stretched languidly and watched Michael slip on his jeans. She climbed out of the bed and crossed to the dresser, pulling out a T-shirt for herself and blue plaid for Michael. She threw the shirt at him and he slid his arms into the sleeves as he walked out the door and down the stairs. Michael buttoned the middle three buttons on his way down the stairs, leaving a good portion of his chest bare, and peeked through the curtain. A small, brown-haired woman stood outside on the stoop, clutching a covered dish. She shivered against the early spring wind and tried to bring the edges of her coat together with one hand. 

"Hi," Michael said, pulling open the door. He leaned against the door, one elbow draped against the side over his head, his hand brushing back a curl of hair. 

The woman stared at him for a moment, flabbergasted. "I brought lunch," she said stupidly, holding out the dish. Nikita appeared beside Michael in jeans and a T-shirt. 

"Tracy! Come in, you must be freezing out there," Nikita announced, nudging Michael aside with her hip. She reached out and plucked at Tracy's sleeve, drawing the older woman inside the door and shutting it firmly behind her. "Let me take that." Nikita took the dish from her numb fingers and walked the few steps into the kitchen. Tracy followed Nikita wordlessly, casting a glance behind her as Michael followed them. 

"Michael, this is our neighbor, Tracy Ramsey. Tracy, this is my husband," Nikita said, leaning back against the counter as she introduced them. Michael extended his hand, shaking Tracy's limp fingers with a warm grip. 

"It's a pleasure," he murmured. 

"We share a backyard," Tracy blurted. Her eyes dropped to her shoes and she grimaced, as if she realized how ridiculous she sounded. 

Nikita broke the silence by lifting the lid from the dish and inhaling deeply. "This smells wonderful. What did you bring us?" 

Tracy turned away from Michael gratefully. "Oh, it's just beef stew. I made it for my family, but George took off to an RV show this morning and my two oldest have been gone to the mall all day..." Tracy trailed off, realizing she was babbling. "I had so much left over, I thought I should bring some by," she finished lamely. 

Nikita gripped Tracy's shoulder. "I don't know how to thank you. We hardly have any food in the house," Nikita looked over the top of Tracy's head at Michael. "See, I told you I would feed you later." 

As if on cue, Michael's stomach grumbled loudly. Tracy blushed slightly at Michael's answering chuckle. 

"Have you eaten?" Nikita asked, pulling some plates down from the cupboard. Michael moved around her and began making coffee. 

"Me?" Tracy said. "Well, I only had a bite because no one was home, but--" 

"Then stay and eat with us," Nikita urged. "You brought over enough for ten people." 

Tracy's expression wavered. "I wouldn't want to intrude." 

Nikita laughed and put her hands on her hips. "Not hardly. Right, Michael?" 

"Please stay," he said. Then he smiled at her. 

Tracy's hand crept up to her throat. "O-okay." 

************ 

They were sipping coffee in the kitchen when another knock sounded on the front door. Nikita brushed her hand down Michael's arm and squeezed his hand. "Don't worry, I'll get it." Michael settled back against the refrigerator and took another swallow of his coffee, his eyes following Nikita's jean-clad rear to the front of the house. 

Tracy cleared her throat. "I'm glad I finally got to meet you," she told him, feeling more comfortable with the exotic man after spending more time in his company. "Nikita seemed really lost in this house without you." 

Michael's gaze fell upon her. "She did?" His eyebrows raised slightly. 

Tracy nodded enthusiastically, swallowing the hot liquid before speaking. "She was really anxious for you to come home." 

At her words, Michael smiled sweetly and dropped his eyes to the tiled floor. "So was I." 

Nikita appeared in the hallway with another woman in tow. 

"Hi, Lydia," Tracy called to the young woman. 

"Hey, Tracy. I didn't know you were here," Lydia smiled. 

"Michael, this is Lydia, the one I was talking about this morning," Nikita said, crossing to stand by Tracy. Michael put down his cup and moved forward. 

"Ah, Lydia," he said. With his accent, her name came out like _Leedjya_. "I've heard so much about you." He shook her proffered hand and returned to his slouch against the refrigerator. Lydia's throat worked convulsively and she shot a desperate glance at Nikita. 

"Hi," she squeaked finally. Nikita moved to Michael's side and leaned against him companionably. She knew exactly what Lydia was picturing, and Nikita was hard-pressed to keep that image of Michael sprawled across the sheets from roaring to the forefront of her mind. Another knock sounded on the front door. 

"Again?" Nikita said incredulously. 

"Allow me," Michael smiled, slipping from the kitchen. 

As soon as he disappeared, Lydia blurted, "Holy sh*t!" 

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Tracy echoed, pressing her palm against her cheek. 

Nikita's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Is the whole neighborhood going to come over to gawk at my husband?" 

"Count on it," Lydia quipped, craning her neck around to look down the hallway. "Oh, god! It's the barracuda," she said with quiet dismay. 

"Not Amy Muldoon," Tracy groaned, glaring into her coffee mug. 

"Looks like she's already taking liberties with your Michael," Tracy snapped, leaning farther. 

_Your Michael._

Nikita smiled to herself. "Then I'd better go rescue him." 

************ 

Nikita rounded the corner to see the 'barracuda' pulling away from Michael after planting several kisses of greeting on his stubbled cheeks. 

Oh, god, Nikita thought. Not another person who likes kissing Michael the _French_ way. 

Amy Muldoon hooked her arm through Michael's elbow and he was leading her towards the kitchen. He had what looked suspiciously like an apple pie cradled in his other arm. 

"I see you've met my husband," Nikita said pleasantly, extending her hand. "I'm Nikita." 

The barracuda gave her a simpering smile and shook her hand. "As I was saying to your _charming_ husband, my name is Mrs. Muldoon, but _please_ call me Amy. I live down the street. I brought a housewarming gift." The petite blonde clutched Michael's arm closer to her generously endowed chest. Nikita eyed her critically from behind as she allowed them to precede her into the kitchen. Amy Muldoon wore a stylish, silk pant suit and had carefully arranged hair. And she had latched onto Michael like the predatory fish her nickname indicated. Nikita shook her head. 

I'm going to enjoy this, Nikita thought wickedly. 

"Oh!" Amy exclaimed. "I didn't know anyone else was here." 

Nikita detected a faint hint of dismay as Amy nodded to Lydia and Tracy. "Would everyone like a slice of pie?" Nikita asked, keeping her expression bright. 

"None for me, please," Amy said. She rubbed her hands over her hips and fluttered her eyes up at Michael provocatively. "I've got to watch my figure." 

"Well, I don't," Tracy announced. She grinned at Nikita and nudged Lydia's elbow. 

"Count me in," Lydia said. 

"Everyone have a seat," Nikita said, bringing out a large knife from a drawer and slicing up the pie Michael had set on the counter. "Darling, could you make more coffee?" 

"Yes, 'Kita," Michael's mouth twitched as he followed her instructions. 

Nikita watched as three pairs of eyes followed Michael's progress around the kitchen; she quickly put four slices of pie on plates with a spatula. Michael appeared at her elbow to help her carry them to the table. 

"It's the shampoo," he whispered in her ear, caressing the small of her back. The kiwi-strawberry scent wafted to her nose. 

Nikita tried, but she couldn't hold in the giggle at Michael's teasing words. She swatted him on the backside as he skirted around her to take the plates to the table. 

"Michael and Nikita are newlyweds," Tracy announced slyly. 

"So, Michael. What do you do?" Amy asked coyly, obviously changing the subject. She sidled up to Michael, laying a hand on his forearm.. 

"I'm an art dealer." 

"How fascinating. How do you like the pie? I made it myself," Amy said; she inched forward until her breasts were pressed against his arm. 

Michael gave her a devastating smile. "It's delicious." 

Amy Muldoon's blue eyes widened and her lips parted in a soft sigh. "Thank you." 

Poor woman, Nikita thought, digging into her pie. She has no idea how far she is out of her league. 

************ 

"I can't believe her!" Tracy exclaimed, casting an evil eye to the front of the house where Michael was showing Amy Muldoon out. 

"I warned Dan that if I ever caught him with her that he'd regret not forcing me to sign a pre-nup agreement," Lydia snapped, eyes flashing. 

"Why? What's she done?" Nikita said. 

"Done? She's broken up four marriages in this neighborhood alone!" Lydia answered, crossing her arms tightly. 

"Keep an eye on her," Tracy warned, putting a motherly hand on Nikita's shoulder. 

"Like I said, I'm not worried. I trust Michael. Besides, he's more than Amy Muldoon can handle," Nikita said. 

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Lydia giggled. 

Nikita winked as Michael reentered the kitchen. "Did the bad woman take advantage of you?" Nikita cooed, looping her arms around Michael's neck. 

"Shamelessly," he said, settling his hands on her hips. "She dropped her keys." 

"She made you pick them up?" Nikita asked; her grin stretched across her face. Michael nodded, his lips twitching. "Did you give her an eyeful?" Michael nodded again. "Could she speak when she left?" Michael pondered it for a minute. 

"No." 

Nikita arched her neck around and grinned at her two friends. "He makes me proud." 

Tracy shook her head and opened the back door. "I'll see you two lovebirds later. Bye, Lydia." She slipped out the back door and shut it quietly behind her. 

"I'll let myself out," Lydia waved and walked to the front of the house. When the front door closed, Nikita sagged against Michael and buried her nose in his shirt. 

"Alone, at last," she said, her voice muffled. 

"What do you want to do?" 

"I don't know," Nikita said, pulling her head back to look at his face. "What do people normally do on Saturday afternoons?" At Michael's blank stare, Nikita added, "And why am I asking you?" 

"We could get groceries," Michael offered. 

"How romantic," Nikita giggled. At the gleam in Michael's eye, Nikita changed her mind. He had made a trip to the mall one of the most erotic experiences of her life. 

Let's see what Michael can do with food, Nikita thought. 

Nikita gave Michael a wicked grin. "When do we leave?" 

************ 

The sliding doors whooshed back and Nikita stepped inside, glancing around at the milling crowd of shoppers in the large supermarket. She grasped Michael's hand and pulled him farther into the store, sensing his reticence at joining the crowd. Nikita dropped his hand and tugged on the sleeve of the leather motorcycle jacket she had insisted he wear. 

"Come on, Michael. You're acting like you've spent the last fifteen years as a covert, government operative," she whispered in his ear. 

He angled his head slightly. "What gave you that idea, dear?" 

Nikita flashed him a grin and broke away, wheeling back a shiny cart. "Here, you push." She flung the cart at Michael and he caught it deftly. 

Michael edged the cart away from a wispy-haired elderly woman and smiled his apologies. "Naughty, Nikita," he called to her swishing back. She crooked her finger over her shoulder and gestured him forward imperiously. A moment later, Nikita heard the squeaky wheels come up behind her, interspersed with Michael muttering French expletives under his breath. 

Nikita wandered through the produce section and bagged some oranges. When she searched for Michael to put them in the cart, she found him right behind her. "Strawberries and kiwis?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Michael simply gave her an innocent stare and propped his forearms on the cart handle. 

"You don't like fruit?" he said. 

Nikita snorted indelicately and moved on to the dairy section. When she returned to the cart with an armful of eggs, cheese, and yogurt, Michael was standing a few feet away perusing the bread. In the child's seat of the cart sat a spray bottle of whipped cream. Nikita slanted Michael a glance; he was smiling at her wickedly over his shoulder, chin pressed on the black leather. Blood rushed pleasantly to her face and her lips parted in anticipation. Michael started to turn around. 

A large woman trundled around the corner, missing Michael with her cart but smacking him with her elbow and one half of her enormous bosom. 

"Pardon me." Michael pronounced the words so quickly, Nikita couldn't be sure if he had spoken English or French. 

"Sorry 'bout that," the woman drawled. She did a double take and raked her gaze over him from head to toe. "Lord have mercy!" She planted a plump hand in the center of his chest, effectively trapping Michael between her and the bread rack. 

"Excuse me," Michael said, craning his neck around the woman to glare at Nikita. She pressed her hand to her mouth and rocked back on her heels. 

"I would have taken you for one of the skinny ones, young man. But you got some meat those bones, don't you?" 

Nikita glanced over at the strawberries and whipped cream, and sighed gustily. "There you are, honey," she called. 

"My wife," Michael said to the woman, easing himself out of her grasp. She cast a disparaging glance at Nikita over her thick shoulder. 

"If you ever want a real woman, give me a call," she insisted, giving Michael a bawdy wink and wheeling her cart forward. 

"I think this town is a little short on sexy men," Nikita sighed, dragging Michael back to the cart. "Push." 

************ 

Nikita deposited her latest armload of carrots and lettuce in the cart and glanced at Michael's new additions, ignoring his laconic lean. Beside the whipped cream was a squeeze bottle of honey and a glass jar of chocolate syrup. She felt the tingling rush rise again, spreading to her fingertips; Nikita feathered a soft kiss over Michael's upturned face and swished away. 

Coming back, Nikita's eyes widened in surprise. This time, she ogled a jar of peanut butter and a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chubby Hubby. 

He's getting inventive, Nikita thought. I like it. 

"I just need one more thing," Nikita said, a mischievous grin lighting her face. "I'll be right back." 

Nikita wandered down the booze aisle. Her eyes on the shelves, she didn't see the man until she bumped into him. "Sorry," she murmured, darting her eyes down slightly. The young man blushed, pushing back the bill on his baseball cap. 

"Wow," he breathed. "I mean -- excuse me." Nikita smiled at him and continued searching the shelves. "You know," he started, clearing his throat noisily. "I've heard that the grocery store is a great place to meet people." 

"Really?" Nikita gave him a cursory glance. He looked like a college student, around her age. Nikita could just imagine the conversation they would have: 

_"So, what do you do?"_

_"I'm an engineering student. What about you?"_

_"Oh, I shoot people...blow things up...throw people out of windows, stuff like that."_

"I'm Joe. What's your name?" 

Nikita snapped her neck around. "Uh, my name is Nikita." 

"Ni-ki-ta? That's pretty cool. What are you looking for?" 

"Champagne." As soon as she said the word, Nikita located a bottle of what she wanted. 

It's cheap, she thought, examining the label. But we probably won't be drinking it, will we? 

"Having a party?" Joe asked, shoving his hands in his baggy pockets. 

Before she could answer, Nikita felt an arm snake around her waist and jerk her backward. "You can't sneak up on me smelling like a fruit cocktail, Michael," she laughed. Michael's warm lips nibbled at her neck. 

"So that's why you did it," he murmured. 

"Nice meeting you," Nikita called as Michael drew her along the aisle, leaving Joe staring after her with a forlorn expression on his face. 

************ 

At the checkout counter, Michael's roaming hands and the jars containing various liquids did little for Nikita's patience. His fingers stroked her shoulder, his hip pressed against hers. 

"What do you want to use first?" he whispered. 

Nikita glanced at the bottles lined up in the cart and licked her lips. "The whipped cream." 

Michael's lips twitched and his gaze dropped to her breasts. "I know exactly where to put it," he murmured. Nikita's nipples puckered at his intense perusal and he gave a low chuckle. "You read my mind." 

Nikita tapped her foot and flashed a glance at the loaded cart in front of them in the line. The woman began stacking her groceries on the black conveyor belt; Nikita's fingers clenched the wire sides of the cart. Michael breathed rhythmically in her ear with the swiping beeps of the bar codes. To distract herself, Nikita skimmed the headlines of the gossip rags near the chewing gum. 

"Cher gave birth to a two-headed, alien baby," she muttered with derogation under her breath. "Yeah, and I've got some property 500 feet underground that I'd like you to take a look at." Nikita gasped as Michael chuckled and nipped at her earlobe. She pushed at his chest, regretting the action when her palm slid over his firm pectorals. "People are staring, Michael." 

"Let them," he murmured, drawing lazy circles on her back. 

"You're going to get us banned from the supermarket," she insisted, her voice going airy on the last word as Michael turned his attentions to her neck. 

"We'll shop somewhere else." 

"Excuse me?" 

Nikita and Michael turned. The clerk was ogling them; the bagger had paused stuffing the other woman's groceries into brown paper bags. Nikita grinned an apology and started throwing their groceries onto the belt. Every time she brushed against Michael while they unloaded the cart, the warmth in Nikita's groin seemed to double. She came out of her haze momentarily when she found Michael and the clerk staring at her expectantly. Nikita flushed and fished the check book out of her purse, remembering that she had dragged Michael from the house before he had the time to grab more than his jacket. 

It felt odd to write out a check for groceries, seeing her and Michael's name on the slip of paper; odder still to have Michael beside her, idly spinning the whipped cream with an expectant gleam in his eye. 

She examined him closely as he helped her load the bags into the trunk of their sedan, watching the leather grow taut between his shoulders as he lifted. 

I need to talk to him about all this, Nikita thought. But not until _after_ I find out what he plans to do with the peanut butter. 

************ 

Nikita unpacked the groceries with fervor, slamming cupboards open and shut until Michael quietly protested that they would come off their hinges if she didn't stop. She whirled on him, snatching up the can of whipped cream and shaking it threateningly. When Michael didn't back up, she squirted a small bit onto his chin. Nikita leaned forward and lazily lapped it from his face, her tongue scraping against his stubble. She noted, with no small pleasure, that Michael increased his pace after that. 

Nikita was reaching up on her toes to put the last item away when Michael's arms slipped around her waist. He turned her around and lifted her up onto the counter, and slid his warm hands under the hem of Nikita's T-shirt. 

"Here?" Nikita asked as Michael tugged her shirt up and over her head. 

His hot tongue darted over the tops of her breasts before he answered, "Easiest place to clean." His hands kneaded her hips, tilting them forward to press against his. 

"How rom--antic," Nikita quipped, her voice breaking between syllables as Michael eased her bra off. He danced the cups teasingly over her nipples before reaching back and uncapping the can of whipped cream. Michael bent his head down as he shook the can, drawing a hot, wet circle around each nipple. Nikita arched her neck back and closed her eyes in pleasure. Her thighs clamped hard around Michael when the first chilly puff of cream hit her skin. Michael's hand immediately followed, his callused thumb working the whipped cream into her smooth skin. 

Nikita moaned when his hand left her, only to be replaced by his slick, seeking mouth. She drew his hand up, suckling the cream away and mimicking his actions at her breast. Nikita bucked her hips as another jet of cold whipped cream covered her other breast. This time, Michael lapped away the sweet puff of cream, cleaning her until Nikita's skin glistened and shivered with delight. 

Nikita forced him away from the counter and nearly ripped his shirt from his back, hands immediately scrabbling at his fly. When she had divested Michael of his jeans, she took the bottle of honey into one hand. "Lie back," she ordered throatily, her eyes glittering in anticipation. He complied, leaning back on the floor with one knee cocked. Nikita knelt between his thighs, squeezing a line of honey down his length, from his throat to the velvet tip of his burgeoning arousal. She put the bottle to the side and leaned over him on all fours. 

"Good enough to eat," she murmured wickedly. Her tongue flicked at the quickening pulse at the base of his neck and his muscles clenched in response. Nikita lapped her way down, cleaning with her tongue and teasing with her lips. The honey was flavored by Michael's salty skin and heady musk, and she reveled in every groan and flexing muscle. As Nikita swirled her tongue in his belly button, she felt Michael shifted impatiently beneath her. When she swirled her tongue over his velvet tip, mixing the honey with the pale liquid pearling there, Michael's hips bucked. 

"Ni-ki-ta." His guttural voice sent a flurry of blood rushing down into her groin, leaving her ears humming. She continued to lap and suckle away the honey, her own arousal sharpening with the knowledge of his pleasure. When Nikita had cleansed him, she circle her thumb and forefinger around the base of his cock and took him into her mouth. 

************ 

Nikita giggled when Michael rolled her over. He had drawn her up and ravished her mouth when she had finished, clamping her securely to his chest. But to their chagrin, the combined liquids had stuck their skins together. Michael put his hands on the floor by her head and lifted himself up, while Nikita pushed back on his shoulders. Their skin zipped apart; Nikita's eyes darkened with arousal as she tugged her nipples away from Michael's chest. 

"It's getting dangerous," Michael said, tugging her jeans down from her hips. 

"In our line of work, what isn't?" Nikita responded, arching her back helpfully. Michael rose to his knees and plucked the jar of peanut butter from the counter. He eyed the jar speculatively and then glanced down at her splayed legs. "You wouldn't," Nikita said, her lids dropping and legs falling open in unconscious invitation. 

"I would," he replied, unscrewing the top with a graceful twist of his hands. He dipped his finger inside and came up with a sizable dollop of the brown stuff. Then he grinned wickedly and drew a line from her ankle bone up to her inner thigh. Michael taunted her by sucking the excess peanut butter from his finger and crouching down on his haunches. Finally, his mouth began massaging the dip above her ankle, causing Nikita to sigh and lean back. She realized, with a jolt, that it was going to take him a considerable amount of time to work his way up her long leg and wiggled in frustration. 

He'd better not even _think_ about doing that to my other leg, Nikita thought hazily. At least, not until I get my turn again. 

************ 

Nikita breathed in the smell of peanut butter on Michael's neck as he reached around her and turned on the taps. The hot water sluiced down her back and over her shoulders; Nikita turned her head up for a kiss. Michael's mouth was warm, tasting of salty sweetness. 

He grunted when she attacked his sticky chest with a soapy loofah sponge, rubbing until his silky skin flushed pink under her ministrations. Nikita's tough gentled as she ventured lower, caressing his inner thighs with the sponge while his fingers slid up and down her water-slick arm. Michael took the sponge from her, flicking it over her breasts and down her tummy before crouching down and working his way up. He lathered her ankle, calf, knee. Michael rubbed her thigh, nuzzling the leg that had gone un-buttered in counterpoint. Nikita's fingers fisted in his damp hair, drawing him up to her mouth. Her tongue darted between his lips and stroked the velvety interior of his mouth as his hands continued to knead the sponge over her chest. 

"Champagne?" Nikita murmured into his mouth. 

"Turn off the water," Michael agreed, tossing the sponge out of the tub and reaching for the bottle with one lithe arm. The taps squeaked shut and Michael pressed his thumbs against the champagne cork. With a hollow pop, the golden liquid spilled up and over the lip of the bottle, streaming down their wet bodies. Nikita dipped her head and lapped a mouthful of champagne into her mouth. She held it there and threaded her fingers through Michael's damp curls, pulling his lips to hers. Their mouths slid together, the tingling alcohol commingling with hot tongues and spilling over lips. 

Nikita felt the liquid slide down her throat as Michael tugged on her full lower lip with his teeth. He took a mouthful of champagne and suckled at her neck; it dribbled between her breasts and down to the apex of her thighs. Nikita pushed Michael's arm holding the bottle to the side and slid a thigh between his. She eyed Michael with a wicked little grin and sipped champagne from the bottle, letting it spill into the hollow of his throat. Nikita wrapped her hand around his, tipping the bottle up to let more liquid run down his chest. She felt Michael's muscles bunch against her skin. He threw his head back and groaned low in his chest; Nikita nibbled at his exposed throat. When Michael lowered his head, his cheeks were flushed, lips red. He gazed at her with half-lidded eyes over the end of the bottle, dribbling his mouthful of champagne over the tip of one breast. Nikita gasped and clutched at Michael's slick back as the tingling sensation spread throughout her body, centering on his skilled mouth.. 

Nikita took another drag from the bottle as Michael moved on to her other breast, first coating it with champagne and then lapping away the excess liquid. Nikita tightened her fingers reflexively in his hair and Michael lifted his head. His pupils narrowed at the sight of Nikita, her body glistening and rosily flushed. With a clank of glass against tile, he set the bottle aside and stepped from the tub. 

"But --" 

"Shh," Michael soothed, running the backs of his fingers over her cheekbone. 

"The sheets," Nikita continued to protest half-heartedly, allowing Michael's hand to draw her across the hall and into the bedroom. 

"They can be washed," he murmured. "Come to bed, 'Kita." 

************ 

Nikita hung back for a moment until Michael turned around. She let out a breathy sigh and scanned the sculptured length of his aroused body, gleaming where the champagne had not yet dried. When Nikita's eyes traveled back to his face, she realized that he was returning the favor. A delicious ache arrowed up to her sternum as his heated gaze inched along her skin, and Nikita responded to the gentle tug of his hand. 

"Come to bed," he whispered again. He lead her to the edge of the bed, climbing onto it backwards and pulling himself back with his elbows. Nikita crawled on all fours over him until they both lay diagonal across the bed. Their limbs entwined, slipping and rubbing together in a heady combination of warm, silken skin and the residue of champagne. 

Michael's hand smoothed Nikita's dripping hair back on her scalp; he nudged her head down and propped himself up on one elbow, capturing her lips in a languorous kiss. Nikita rubbed her alcohol-flushed cheek against his beard stubble, softly murmuring in satisfaction. Michael rolled her onto her back, sensing wordlessly that they both preferred a leisurely pace. 

Nikita ran her palms over the cords and muscles of his back, skimmed over his powerful chest, cradled his hips. Her nerves hummed with an awareness of Michael's nearness, separate from the hazy wash of the champagne. It was always this way with him, the current passing between their bodies, a feeling she could no more deny than the command to keep her heart beating. She craved it, him, all of it. He felt it, too. That thrum which raised his head whenever she looked on him from a distance, the unspoken communication on missions. He'd known it from their first touch; it had taken Nikita a little longer to understand. 

Cradled in his warmth, his weight pressing down, Nikita's mouth sought and found Michael's. His fingers brushed down, circling her hip and delving further, caressing her moist, engorged flesh. Michael breathed a soft sigh over her lips, finding her more than ready for him. His other hand brushed over her face, tracing her brow, nose and lips. He fluttered kisses over her closed lids. 

"Look at me, 'Kita," he murmured, muscles rippling. Nikita opened her eyes and cradled his face in her palms. Michael locked eyes with her, and with a shifting surge of muscle, he was inside her. Nikita saw his eyelids flutter, lips part, pupils narrow, and knew her face was a mirror image. When he began to move within her, Nikita's hips moved with him. Michael stroked into her liquidly, unhurried, his hands sliding down her ribcage to cup the backs of her thighs. They were already one, melded seamlessly together. 

When Nikita came, it was as languorous as Michael's lovemaking. She floated up, back arched, losing control of her limbs. Nikita felt the constrains of flesh dissolve and she was suddenly the electric current, thrumming in time with Michael's heart beat. 

Slowly, her senses returned and Nikita realized she was cocooned under the covers; her back was flush with Michael's chest, his arms cradling her, her head tucked into the hollow of his neck. Nikita covered his arms with her own, closing her eyes and allowing Michael's steady breathing to lull her to sleep. 

************ 

The absence of Michael's warm body in the bed brought Nikita out of her sleepy haze. She swung her legs over the side and padded to the closet, unhooking her terry cloth robe from the knob. Nikita followed the smell of coffee downstairs, noting with a soft smile that Michael had cleaned up the kitchen for her. She poured herself a cup of steaming coffee and wandered into the living room where Michael was ensconced on the couch, typing at his lap top computer. 

He looked a little rough around the edges, unshaved, hair untamed. He was wearing a white, ribbed tank top and a dark pair of sweat pants. Nikita moved into the room and sat on the other end of the couch, tucking her bare feet underneath the edges of her robe. 

"Michael?" 

At her voice, Michael typed for another few seconds before saving and snapping the screen down on the computer. "Yes?" 

"I think we need to talk," Nikita continued, feeling the threads of apprehension knot in her gut. Michael's eyes swept the room and came back. "I've checked daily," she answered the silent question in his eyes. Nikita shrugged and Michael nodded; if they were being observed, so be it. 

"How do you feel about it?" he asked, turning to face her fully. 

"I didn't think I'd like performing for _him_ ," Nikita said, consciously avoiding names. "But to tell you the truth, Michael, it's been the last thing on my mind." 

"He's set up a camera on our bedroom from one of the rooms in his house," Michael said, rubbing his thumb over his chin momentarily. 

_Our bedroom_. 

Nikita shook her head free of the thought and sighed. "When?" 

"This morning." 

Nikita nodded and sat silently for a few minutes. "I guess what bothers me the most is that I feel like I'm out of the loop. I need to know what's going on." 

Michael reached over and turned his lap top on again, flipping up the screen. Nikita stared at him, her cup of coffee forgotten in her hand. 

He's not going to let it go at that, Nikita thought. Is he? 

Michael looked up and beckoned her with his expression. When Nikita started to scoot over on the couch, he turned his attention back to the computer screen and began drawing up files. "We need to start feeling out contacts in the area." 

Nikita rested her hand on his shoulder and peered at the screen. "Are we going to do some dirty work for Section to get us established?" 

"Yes. Section has picked up some existing contracts that will bring us into contact with certain people who have Red Fist affiliations." 

"What's our cover going to be?" Nikita wondered out loud. Her thoughts strayed back to when she and Michael had posed as Peter and Sage in similar circumstances. 

"We'll be posing as mercenaries mainly on the weekend. If Sections recalls us for an extended mission or there is a new development, you'll accompany me on a business trip." 

"So what's our first job?" Nikita asked, her confident voice betraying how relieved she was that Michael had brought her back into the information loop. 

"Corporate espionage," Michael said, bringing up the file for Nikita to view. She slid off the couch and propped her elbows up on the coffee table and peered at the screen. 

"A little breaking and entering the old fashioned way?" 

************ 

Nikita ran in a ducking crouch through the unlit hallway, feeling curiously naked without her Section mission gear bumping gently at her waist. She watched Michael prowl in front of her, taking out a guard with a tranq dart. Cat burglary seemed to come naturally to him, even without Birkoff's minimalistic help on the feed. What they were doing was an extremely scaled down operation; free-agent mercenaries just didn't have the resources that Section did. 

Nikita and Michael had slipped into the corporate headquarters through the heating and air ducts, bypassing the security with relative ease. The security had been tight, but Nikita knew it wasn't on par with world class terrorist organizations or hostile government facilities. 

It's a piece of cake, compared to our usual penetration missions, Nikita mused, covering Michael as they turned down another dark hallway. 

Nikita reigned in a giggle as the absurdity of the situation hit her. A few hours before, she had been trying her hand at chocolate chip cookies and vacuuming the carpet. Michael had been reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. 

Now, she was dressed in black fatigues and carrying a tazer and a gun loaded with tranquilizer darts. Suzy Homemaker meets G.I. Jane. 

Nikita took up position outside the lab's only exit as Michael ducked inside and sought out the stand-alone computer. Out of the corner of her eye, Nikita saw him insert the disc and begin copying files. Minutes later, the download complete, Michael pressed his hand on her arm and they retreated along the same route they had entered. 

Leaving the computer and the building standing left Nikita feeling the mission was incomplete as she crawled through the ducts again. All they needed was the information, and it didn't matter if someone knew it had been stolen. Nikita slid out the duct, landing in a crouch, and surveyed the area as Michael slipped down beside her. She nodded at his pressure on her arm and carefully crossed the open area to the chain-link fence. Nikita crouched down and waved Michael forward, holding up the section of clipped fencing for him to scrabble through. 

When they reached their rented van, Nikita was out of breath and feeling jubilant that the mission hadn't included the death of innocents or a giant fireball of destruction. She slowly relaxed as Michael drove away from the building to an alley across town. She clambered into the back, while Michael kept watch, and struggled out of her fatigues and into a clingy black dress. Nikita left the clothes in a heap and climbed back to the front, carrying her stiletto pumps by the straps. She tried to keep her eyes from straying to the rear-view mirror while Michael doffed his fatigues and untied his top knot. He pulled on a pair of form-fitting black pants, a charcoal T-shirt, and a thigh-length leather jacket. 

Michael scooped up their clothes and shoved them into a duffel bag. He exited the van from the back and entered an apartment building to dispose of their gear in a randomly chosen incinerator. 

When he returned empty-handed, they drove to the rental parking lot and exchanged cars. Nikita put the keys in the drop box as Michael discreetly loaded their weapons into a briefcase. Minutes later, he parked in a busy lot near a club. He killed the motor and glanced at her. 

"Ready?" 

"Let's go," she said, flashing him a saucy grin. 

************ 

They walked into the smoky club, touching only with entwined pinkie fingers. The dance floor was crowded with swaying couples, writhing to a Lenny Kravitz set. Nikita slanted a sultry smile at Michael and pulled him onto the dance floor; she slid one hand behind his neck and the other around his waist. Her fingers brushed against the disc case shoved in the tight waist band of his pants. Michael's arms rested loosely on her hips. They automatically adopted a pose where each had easy access to their weapons: Michael with his gun at his hip, and Nikita with her weapon tucked inside the purse slung over her shoulder. 

They began swaying to the song and Nikita rocked against Michael to the sensual, slow beat. His finger tips massaged her skin through the thin material of her dress. 

Michael slid his thigh between hers, causing the long skirt of her dress to ride up. Nikita scraped her fingers along the back of his neck, wrapping a lock of his hair over her index finger. She tugged his head down slightly and brushed her lips along his jaw. 

"How long?" 

"Fifteen minutes. We're early," he answered, sliding his hand to cup her buttock. The song segued into another, and guitar riffs cut off any reply Nikita might have made. The new song had a faster beat and had garnered appreciative cheers from the other dancers. Nikita ventured a glance around the club and tilted her chin to whisper in Michael's ear. 

"Looks like we won't get kicked out of here, Michael." 

Nikita felt Michael's chuckle rumble in his chest. For once, most of the other patrons were _more_ scantily clad than Nikita, and were dancing _more_ scandalously. Michael's hair grazed her cheek as he bent to whisper in her ear. 

"Don't encourage me, Nikita," he said. Nikita's eyes lit up and she flashed Michael a challenging grin. She used her hand at his waist to grind against his thigh, sliding and bumping against him to the sensual music. Michael responded by raising his left hand high on her side so that his thumb grazed her breast and falling into the rhythm she had established. His right hand flexed on her buttock, tilting her hips to a more advantageous angle. 

When the song ended, they parted slowly. Skin flushed and sheened with sweat. Lids drooping, throats dry. Michael's hand closed around Nikita's elbow and he led her to the bar as the club DJ put on some house music that pounded in time with the strobe lights. Nikita propped her elbows on the bar and faced the crowd while Michael ordered. 

Nikita rolled her head on her neck and peered up at Michael through her lashes. A bead of sweat was snaking its way past his hairline. Nikita wiped the drop away with her index finger; Michael turned towards her as she slowly put her finger on her tongue and licked at the salty wetness. Michael's lips parted. 

His hand dropped from her shoulder and traveled along the low-cut neck of her dress. His thumb flicked at the bead of sweat winding its way through her cleavage. Michael started to pull his hand away, but Nikita captured it and raised his thumb to her mouth. 

************ 

Michael stared in rapt attention as his thumb disappeared between Nikita's pink lips; a soft sigh edged past his lips when her teeth closed around his thumb, her tongue swirling, hands massaging his captured appendage. The bartender slapped napkins down on the bar and set their glasses on top. Nikita released Michael's hand reluctantly, noting through her heavy-lidded gaze that he brought his hand up to suck at her taste on his thumb. 

Nikita shifted so that her stomach pressed Michael's hip and lifted her glass of sparkling champagne. Their eyes met over upturned glasses, sipping at intoxicating liquids. Michael paused, his eyes straying to the entrance of the club. Without obstructing his view, Nikita leaned in close. 

"Where?" 

"He's heading to the booths. Third from the back," Michael said. 

"What's our approach vector?" 

Michael tossed back the rest of his brandy and offered her his hand. As Nikita slid her palm across his, Michael said, "We dance." 

Nikita's senses kicked into high gear as he skillfully maneuvered her across the dance floor, moving slowly to avoid drawing unwanted attention. She and Michael had morphed instantly into operative mode, firmly putting their brains in charge of their bodies, alert to the weight of their weapons. 

Nikita dropped her mask for a moment and looked Michael in the eye. "I'm much better at this than bouillabaisse." 

"Yes," was his unguarded reply. Before Nikita could take exception to his bland statement, Michael spun her to a halt in front of a circular booth. She graced their contact with a sultry smile and slid over the vinyl covering of the booth, leaving room for Michael. Nikita immediately plastered herself to Michael's side, giving the impression that she was fondling his backside when she was actually increasing her access to her purse wedged between them. Her other hand strayed across his hip and settled onto his heavy thigh. 

The man sitting across from them looked like he frequented pawn shops. Thinning, dark hair. A goatee. Purple silk shirt. A perpetual sniffle. Supposedly named Lucas. 

"Do you got it?" he demanded, an unlit cigarette dangling from his thin lips. 

Michael turned and nuzzled Nikita's throat, taking the disc from her right hand and passing it under the table to Lucas. Michael put the small case he had exchanged the disc for on the seat, by Nikita. 

"Half. You'll receive the rest when we confirm the information." 

"Fine," Michael replied. Beside him, Nikita flipped open the case and surreptitiously counted the money. "Do you have anything else for us?" 

Lucas passed his eyes over the crowd and withdrew a battered photograph. He slid it face-down over the table with his index finger. "We'd like you to take care of him." 

Michael flipped over the picture and handed it to Nikita. "Name?" 

"Von Sants." 

Nikita pulled a PDA from her purse and entered the data. She pressed enter for the search and tucked the picture in the inside pocket of Michael's jacket. When the two didn't answer him right away, Lucas swallowed. 

"I know it isn't your usual gig," he said to Michael, his leg developing a nervous jig. 

Nikita's PDA beeped and she scrolled through the information. Sants wasn't currently green-listed by Section, and Birkoff had given them the go-ahead. "It doesn't conflict with any of our existing contracts," she said, speaking directly to Lucas. "How do you want it to look?" 

"What?" Lucas asked, light flaring up on his sharp cheekbones as he uncapped his Zippo. 

"Murder, accident, natural causes. Choose one," Nikita supplied succinctly. 

"Natural causes," Lucas said, glancing back and forth between the pair. 

"Time frame?" Michael asked quietly. 

Lucas jerked his chin in unshared amusement. "You guys are real professionals. Uh...two weeks?" 

"Will that be all?" Michael said, blank stare firmly in place. 

************ 

Lucas had smiled at them with bonhomie, obviously wanting to chat and be seen with higher caliber criminals than he was wont. He sniffed deeply and stroked his nose. His expression seemed to say: 

_My boss is gonna be happy, and when he's happy, he gives me the primo sh*t._

"Want to share a drink?" Lucas asked, leaning his elbows on the scarred table. The twin ice masks staring back at him checked his eagerness. "Hey, I'm buying," he protested weakly. In sync, Nikita and Michael slid across the vinyl upholstery. He stood gracefully and offered Nikita his hand. 

"Our business here is concluded," Michael said tonelessly, wrapping her arm around her waist 

Michael danced her away from the booth; Nikita allowed his presence to soothe the tang of distaste in the back of her mouth. 

"Where'd they dig _him_ up?" Nikita grated, closing the gap between their bodies and resting her head in the hollow of Michael's neck. He didn't answer, but his hand began rubbing her lower back. Nikita sighed and resisted the urge to crawl into Michael's arms and demand that he take her to a sunlit beach and rub coconut oil on her hard to reach places. 

"When can we get out of here?" she asked, refusing to give voice to her anger at the situation. Killing had entered once again into her carefully constructed fantasy world. 

"Now." 

She sat silently, head resting on the seat belt strap, as Michael drove from the club to another car rental agency by a circuitous route. While they dropped off the car, Nikita found herself automatically scanning and covering for Michael until he rejoined her, taking her hand for the walk to their car. She sighed deeply, breathing in the cool spring air, heels clicking on the ruptured sidewalk. 

Michael surprised her by bringing their joined hands up to drop a soft kiss on her knuckles. "I'd give you my coat, Nikita," he said, trailing off when he turned his searching eyes upon her face. Nikita startled herself by chuckling. If Michael gave her his coat, he'd either be unarmed or everyone in sight would get a good look at his big gun. 

"I know, Michael," she replied, squeezing his warm fingers to let him know that it was enough that he had wanted to do so. "And I'd make you carry my purse, but then I wouldn't be able to pepper spray you if you got fresh with me." 

Michael's eyebrows shot up. "Fresh?" He dropped her hand and snaked his arm around her shoulder, palming a breast. "Like this?" 

Nikita stared at him, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Michael was teasing her out of a bad mood, and she didn't have the heart to deny him. 

Yeah, right, she thought. I'm just being _selfless._ Nothing in it for _me._

"Remove your hand, or I'll break your wrist," Nikita threatened. 

************ 

"As you wish." Michael stared at her with a wickedly innocent expression for a moment more and then dropped his hand. His fingers then proceeded to trace over her shoulder, sliding down her partially bare back and into her dress where the scooped back curved above her buttocks. "Better?" 

"Let me go, or I'll scream," Nikita answered, tilting her chin up coyly. 

"Then scream." Michael's lips twitched. The muscles in his arm flexed and he snapped her around, pulling her flush against him. 

Nikita's lips curved into a sultry smile. Her left arm was pinned, so she brought her other hand up to trace the dip under his stubbled chin. "You're going to drag me to the car and have your way with me, aren't you?" 

Michael's eyebrows lifted again. A moment later he started pulling her towards the alley where they had parked the car earlier, walking backwards. 

"Have you ever..." Nikita asked, trailing off at the gleam in his eye. 

"Not with you." Michael dipped his head down and nipped at her neck, halting any further questions. 

"Good thing we have the sedan," she sighed. Nikita dug in his jacket pocket as Michael backed them to the car, fingers closing around the keys. He led them around the trunk until his back bumped against the driver side door. She drew the keys out and fumbled with them while Michael's hands roved from her neck to her hips. 

The lock clicked open and Nikita pulled Michael away from the door. She backed him inside, climbing into his lap and leaning forward so the back of her head pressed against the car's padded roof. Michael's body flexed underneath her as he slammed the car door. The power locks snicked shut and Michael reached around her. He caressed her cleavage with his chin and nose as he tilted the steering wheel up. Nikita shifted so her knees cradled his hips, bending backwards to reach the handle to slide the seat back. 

"Better?" he asked, reclining the seat halfway. Nikita wriggled against him, a smile curving her lips as she wrestled his jacket off. She flung the leather garment into the passenger seat and slid her hands over the sculpted curves of his chest. His hands were working over her thighs, kneading through the thin spandex of her dress. 

Michael's arms went around her and pulled her tightly to his chest, his lips capturing hers in a wet, searing kiss. Nikita shifted convulsively, scrambling to get closer to his hard warmth. 

"Ouch!" 

Michael's hold loosened and he brushed the blonde strands back so he could see her face. Her nose was scrunched up ruefully. "Nikita? What is it?" 

************ 

Nikita put her hands on his shoulders and moved her leg back to cradle his hips. "Manual shift," she explained, rubbing at the sore spot on her thigh. Michael's hand took over the task, murmuring soothing phrases under his breath. His mouth found her taut nipples through the stretchy fabric. Nikita's head fell back as Michael's velvet tongue wetted the material, shoulders bumping against the raised steering wheel. 

She bucked when Michael's teeth closed about one nipple and tugged. The horn let out a surprised honk and Michael cursed as his knee banged against the steering wheel. He settled their hips together and leaned back, staring at Nikita with a speculative expression on his face. She stared back, her eyes half-lidded, one hand fidgeting with a lock of hair. His fingers made a brief pass over his chin. 

" _What?_ " Nikita finally demanded, rocking forward to catch his attention. 

Michael turned his face up and languorously stroked the silken walls of her mouth with his tongue. He pulled away with her bottom lip held captive between his teeth. "Turn around." 

"What?" 

"Turn around," Michael repeated. Nikita waited, poised over him, until her face softened in understanding. 

Jesus, Nikita thought. Why didn't _I_ think of that? 

She clambered around on top of Michael, bumping her elbows against the door, his chest, the steering wheel. Nikita snatched at the edge of her dress, which was hanging up on the manual shift and halting her progress. Michael sat patiently underneath her, holding silent when Nikita's knees and elbows poked at him. The transition finally complete, Nikita sighed and leaned her head back on his shoulder. 

Michael's talented mouth nipping at her neck spurred Nikita into action. She arched her back and wriggled out of her panties; Michael wasn't able to stifle a groan when she sat back on his lap and drew them down the length of her legs. She arched her back again so Michael could undo the snap of his pants, tantalizing her with the rasp of a zipper. He arched up to meet her, brushing against her as he wrestled with the material over his slim hips. Michael's hands moved to her thighs, drawing up the material until it bunched above her hips. 

They sat again and Michael slid his warm forearms around her waist. He pulled her up and back, lowering her down slowly. Nikita gasped as his throbbing arousal penetrated her, arms going up to clutch at the headrest behind them. 

"Good...idea," she sighed, twitching her hips and enticing a moan from the hard man beneath her. All thoughts of teasing fled her mind as Michael lifted and thrust into her. The rough fabric under her thighs coupled with the velvet heat stroking into her was a heady combination. Nikita dimly realized that she had lifted her spike-heeled pump to the dash, amazed that she hadn't punched a hole in something or someone. Her fingernails scored the leather headrest as Michael's hand ventured down and cupped her, fingers sliding into the cleft and teasing the engorged flesh. 

Nikita strained forward against his questing hand, rocking back as Michael continued to thrust into her. His fingers continued to stroke a counterpoint and Nikita's breathing quickened. The air in the car grew heavy and fogged the tinted windows; Michael's breath was hot against her neck. They arched together simultaneously; Nikita felt the air whoosh from her body and her muscles twitch. Her convulsing inner muscles sparked Michael's own climax. She felt his teeth close hard on her sweat-sheened neck. 

That's going to leave a mark, she thought muzzily. She smiled in self satisfaction. 

_He marked me._

************ 

"Dan and I are having a dinner party on Friday," Lydia said, huffing slightly on the porch. She put her hands on her hips and stretched out her back muscles. "Can you and Michael come?" 

Nikita glanced up through the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail from their morning run. "I don't know. What time is it?" 

"Well, it starts at six, but it's a progressive dinner party," Lydia replied, hitching up her hip onto the porch railing. 

"Progressive dinner party?" Nikita said doubtfully. She ran her fingers inside the sweaty waistline of her spandex running pants. 

"Don't look at me like _that_ ," Lydia laughed. "It's not an orgy, or anything!" 

If you only knew, Nikita thought irreverently. Being asked to an orgy is much more common for me and Michael than an invitation to dinner. 

"The appetizers are at Tracy and George's. Dan and I are serving the entree at our house. Dessert is at the Davis'. You haven't met them yet. Lisa Davis is my older sister. Would you and Michael serve the after dinner drinks?" 

"Sure," Nikita said, cocking her head hesitantly. "But I'll have to check with Michael first." 

"Cool. Let me know." 

Nikita shrugged and stretched her shoulder, her unzipped jacket falling open. When Lydia gasped, Nikita wrestled with the urge to drop into a crouch and unholster the gun she wasn't wearing. "What?" 

"Are those _teeth_ marks?" 

Nikita craned her neck around, but the bite was where her neck joined with her shoulder. "Oh, that," Nikita said. Her cheeks flushed and she bit her lower lip. 

"What happened?" Lydia continued, jumping off the railing and reaching one aghast hand towards Nikita's shoulder. 

Nikita cleared her throat and pulled her jacket closer around her neck, smoothing the front and playing with the jacket hood. She flashed a grin at Lydia's confused face. "It's, ah, a long story," Nikita drawled, her lips twitching in amusement. 

Lydia's expression changed visibly from worry, to shock, to guilty interest. "Your...he...did _Michael_ do that to you?" 

Nikita's eyes seemed to turn inward and her smiled deepened. "Yeah." 

Lydia sat down woodenly on the railing, her hand creeping up to play with her earring. "Did it...hurt?" she asked hesitantly, worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. 

"I was kind of distracted at the time," Nikita said candidly, rubbing her hand over one eyebrow. 

"I can imagine," Lydia laughed, standing up to go. 

"No," Nikita said suddenly. She winked at Lydia. "No, you can't." 

************* 

Nikita felt ridiculous walking into Section dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt like a carefree suburbanite. Black clad operatives swarmed around her; unfamiliar faces cast her odd looks, but those she knew winked knowingly. Nikita found herself at Walter's counter without any realized intention of going there, but she was early for once. 

"So how's suburban life treating you?" Walter rasped, glancing up from his magnifying glass. Nikita burst into laughter and he rocked back on his stool. "Whoa. Major deja vu." 

"Isn't that a sleazy strip joint?" she said, propping her elbows on his cluttered bench. 

Walter barked out a short peal of laughter. "I wouldn't know, Sugar. What are you doing here?" 

"Madeline wants to talk with me," she answered grimly. Walter started humming the theme from _Jaws_ under his breath. "Shut up, Walter. I've got enough to worry about." 

"Like what? Listen, sweet stuff, _I've seen_ the profile. You shouldn't be so grumpy. That is, unless Michael isn't performing up to speed," Walter trailed off, glancing up at Nikita with a wicked glint in his blue eyes. Nikita flushed slightly and bent down to examine her fingernails. "C'mon, Nikita. You know you can tell me anything." 

Nikita looked back up at Walter with laughter in her eyes. "Let's just say I won't have any problems winning the Horniest Housewife of the Year Award." 

Walter's eyes bulged and he started choking with supressed laughter. "You-you..." he gasped. Nikita rounded the counter and pounded him on the back, shrugging at a few stray operatives looking on with interest. Walter finished his coughing fit and wiped at the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "Get out of here. I've got work to do," he threatened, swatting at her backside as Nikita danced away from his station. 

She glanced at Michael's office on her way to see Madeline. His door was shut, as usual, but the blinds were open and his dark-clad figure leaned over his desk. Nikita hesitated, but decided she got to see enough of Michael outside of Section; she got to see _her_ Michael, not Section Michael. There was no need for her to see him in his office right now, and it would probably give Madeline ammunition to use against her. 

"Hello, Nikita," Madeline said blandly, turning away from the scrolling computer monitor at her desk. She waited until Nikita ensconced herself in the highly functional chair before asking her first deceptively vague question. "What progress have you made?" 

"Michael and I have established ourselves as a believable couple and I've met everyone on my street except the target." 

"Have you been in their homes?" 

Nikita blinked at the question, but couldn't find anything subversive about the query. "I've been in the Ramsey and Johannson houses. There's a dinner party this week, and we'll go to the Davis home." She remained silent and returned Madeline's inscrutably polite gaze. "Why, Madeline?" 

"What kind of security do they use?" 

Nikita flopped back in her chair and concentrated. "From what I gather, most people in the area use a local home security agency. Nothing fancy, just motion lights and a home invasion alarm wired into the doors." 

"It's our understanding that the target regularly attends neighborhood watch meetings. The next meeting isn't due for another month, so you and Michael are going to do something about it." 

"You want us to go breaking and entering?" Nikita drawled, forcing herself to hide her anger and dismay. 

"Yes." 

"I'd rather not steal from the people who are befriending me, Madeline." 

"That's not necessary. It would be more desirable for you and Michael to steal from strangers; that way you are less likely to be recognized," Madeline said smoothly. 

"Is Michael working up the profile?" Nikita asked. 

"I thought you could do it." Nikita nodded her acceptance and got up to leave. As she reached the door, Madeline's voice rang out. "One more thing, Nikita. Is Mr. Nelson being...entertained?" 

Nikita turned around easily, her face unreadable. "He must like what he sees. He's got a camera trained on our bedroom." 

"Good." 

************ 

Michael firmly closed the back door and wound his arm around Nikita's waist as they walked across their backyard. The air was growing milder as the spring season progressed, but there was still a slight chill in the air. Nikita snuggled against Michael's warmth as they cut through the low hedge and skirted the Ramsey's covered swimming pool. Nikita rapped her knuckles on the sliding glass doors, stepping back with Michael when a brown eye peered at them from between the blinds. The hanging blinds whisked aside and the two Section operatives were presented with the grinning face of Tracy's husband, George. He was dressed in slacks and a sweater that bulged over his small beer belly. 

"Come in, _please_!" he laughed. "I've never been so happy to see adults in my entire life." George grimaced as one of his children wailed from another room; his graying mustache quirked at the corners as he took in Michael and Nikita's reactions. Michael looked mildly amused and Nikita was grinning at him. 

George had a good feeling about neighbors like that, ones who didn't get all huffy or weird over recalcitrant children. 

"What's the problem?" Nikita asked as George ushered them to the stools at the breakfast nook. 

"Oh, the usual teenager stuff. My youngest just broke up with her boyfriend. Middle child is excruciatingly embarrassed that her parents are throwing a party. My oldest keeps badgering me for some of the champagne," George rambled, poking at the contents of a covered dish hidden by the counter partition. 

"Champagne?" Nikita said, sliding her hand under the counter to rest on Michael's hard thigh. 

"Yep. Appetizers are oysters on the half shell. My wife tells me oysters and champagne are an aphrodisiac," George winked. He watched with friendly interest as the couple in front of him went still and exchanged glances that would have scorched his hair had he inadvertently stepped between them. 

Nikita's hand kneaded Michael's thigh; his fingers brushed across the back of her bare neck, tangling in the strands that escaped from her stylish top knot. They broke the gaze after several minutes when George cleared his throat and muttered something like, _"newlyweds"_. She turned to him, hoping that her cheeks weren't as flushed as they felt. "Where _is_ Tracy, anyway?" 

"Oh, she's still getting ready." George turned and winked at Michael. "You know how _women_ are." 

Nikita gave Michael's thigh a hard squeeze when his lips parted to make a response. "Don't even think about it, _honey_." 

The doorbell chimed near the front of the house. George grinned at Michael and said, "Didn't mean to get you in any trouble with the wife, there." He left them alone in the kitchen. 

"You're going to make them think I'm henpecked," Michael said, propping his chin in his hand. 

Nikita scooted her stool closer to his. "You deserve it. I had a hard time explaining that bite mark to Lydia the other day." 

Michael's eyes darkened and his fingers strayed from her neck to her shoulder. "This mark?" he asked, tracing the fading red mark after pushing back the fabric. 

"Yeah. Kiss it and make it better." 

Michael bent forward obligingly and nibbled at her shoulder, his cinnamon curls brushing sensually on her sensitive skin. "Better?" he murmured. 

"Almost. A little to the right," Nikita sighed. Her free arm slid up Michael's back, over the dark green silk shirt she had asked him to wear. 

"Well, what do we have here?" a voice boomed. 

************ 

Michael and Nikita pulled apart slowly; his hand remained at her neck, her hand on his thigh. They turned together to face the new arrivals. The man who had spoken stood with his beefy arms crossed, eyeing them lewdly with a wide-legged stance. His petite wife cowered next to him, her resemblance to Lydia indicating that they were Mr. and Mrs. Davis. Lydia walked around him, pulling her husband by the hand. 

"Hey, you two!" she called cheerfully. She lead Dan to the counter and waved the other couple over. "Lisa, Mark, this is Michael and Nikita Christophe. They moved into the old Kincaid place a few weeks ago." 

Mark Davis stood where he was, and his wife didn't seem inclined to make a move without his approval. She nodded slightly at Michael and Nikita, casting her eyes down to the carpet after her attempt at politeness. Dan nudged Lydia and gave her a prompting stare. 

"Oh! I'm sorry. Nikita, you've met Dan, right?" 

Nikita smiled and extended her hand. "Briefly. Obviously, this is my husband." 

Dan and Michael shook hands with a hearty grip, assessing each other. Dan was tall and handsome, in an athletic way. In the exchange, each man kept a proprietary hand on his wife. Suddenly, Dan grinned. "It's good to finally meet the couple that has the neighborhood buzzing." 

Michael leaned back lazily on the stool and quirked the corners of his mouth. "Buzzing?" 

Lydia rapped her palm on Dan's bicep and turned back towards Michael. "He's joking. It's just the usual gossip when somebody new moves in." 

"Ha!" The outburst came from Mark Davis. He dropped his arms and plowed forward; he dropped his large frame into a chair at the dining room table. "You two should invest in some blinds," he said arrogantly. His wife scuttled to his side, a deep flush staining her cheeks. Lydia glared at her brother-in-law with a strained expression that indicated Mark Davis was a singularly uncouth man. Dan shrugged and threw his arm around his wife's shoulders. 

Nikita turned to Michael and grinned at him. She leaned forward to murmur in his ear. "Looks like we've made quite an impression." She raised her voice and fixed her amused gaze on Lydia. "I didn't realize we had such an audience." 

" _You_ decorated the house," Michael said, entwining his fingers in a loose lock of her hair. 

Lydia's giggle dissolved some of the tension in the room. Tracy chose that moment to sweep into the room, her husband and seventeen-year-old son trailing in her wake. 

" _Mo_ -om...can't I have a sip?" 

Tracy sighed and smiled at Nikita in exasperation. "Children." 

"I'm almost an adult," her lanky son protested, brushing his fingers through his dyed-platinum hair when he realized he was the center of attention. 

"So?" George chuckled, cheerfully mussing his son's hair as he walked by. 

Tracy quit fussing the covered dishes and stared in disappointment at the dining room. "Oh, no. George, we don't have enough chairs!" 

George chuckled again. "That's easily remedied. We'll just sit on each other's laps." 

Nikita was laughing at Tracy's expression when she felt herself being lifted from her stool. The backs of her thighs came into contact with Michael's muscled legs, her shoulder with his chest. Michael kissed her nose at her startled look. 

"Works for me," she smiled. 

"When in Rome," Dan quipped, swinging Lydia up and settling her on his lap next to Michael and Nikita. She squeaked indignantly, but didn't seem any more inclined to move than Nikita. "Great idea, George," he said over her shoulder. 

Tracy shook her head and began distributing small plates heaped with oysters while George poured the chilled champagne. His son hounded his steps, whining for a taste of the sparkling liquid. 

"I have a suggestion," Nikita finally said. 

Tracy brushed her hair back in relief. "What?" 

"Let him have some champagne," she answered. " _After_ he tries an oyster." 

"What do you say, Tim?" George said, clapping his son on the back when the laughter died down. "Is it a deal?" 

Tim eyed the plate of pale oysters with a disgusted ambivalence. "Is that the only way?" 

"'Fraid so, son." 

Tim sighed deeply and picked up an oyster shell. He sniffed at him and wrenched his nose away from the offending oyster. "This is so gross." Tim cast his gaze around the room. When he realized Nikita was watching, his shoulders straightened and he lifted the oyster shell to his lips. Nikita watched beneath lowered lashes as the muscles in the young man's throat worked convulsively before he spat the slimy mollusk into the sink. 

************ 

After the saliva-coated mollusk stopped sliding in the sink, everyone had laughingly insisted that Tim be given a glass of champagne for braving the oyster. Nikita had assured the young man that oysters were an "acquired taste." 

The doorbell rang just as everyone was stretching and standing, ready to move on to the main course at Lydia and Dan's house. Tracy puttered in the kitchen, putting away a few dishes. She sent her husband to the door with an irritated flick of her hand. 

"Here I am, fashionably late, as always," came a voice from the foyer. Amy Muldoon appeared, striding forward on stiletto heels and a slinky dress. "Oh, you started without me," she sigh, screwing her painted lips into an exaggerated moue of disappointment. 

Nikita arched her eyebrow at Lydia, her face turned away from the barracuda. Lydia grimaced and shrugged. "She found out and invited herself," she whispered. 

Michael and Nikita reached for each other as Amy Muldoon moved farther into the dining room. They each snaked an arm around the other's waist and Nikita rested her head on Michael's shoulder with a contented sigh. Undaunted, the barracuda stopped in front of them and rubbed her arm over Michael's bicep. 

"Michael, I'm so glad you're here! Nikita," she added as an afterthought. "It's good to see you again." 

"Hello, Amy," Nikita replied breezily, snuggling closer to Michael's silk-covered chest. 

"Everybody ready?" Tracy called, shrugging on her coat near the sliding-glass door. The group walked leisurely through the backyards around the side of Michael and Nikita's house. They paused for a car to pass before crossing the street. 

"Ooh! It's _so_ chilly," Amy Muldoon pouted, shivering dramatically. She slanted a gaze at Michael's face and brushed up against his arm as they walked across the street. 

"Yes," Michael replied. His arm tightened around Nikita and she slipped both her arms around his midsection. "Are you cold, 'Kita?" 

Nikita chuckled and kissed his hand at her shoulder. "Definitely not." Amy Muldoon's sultry smile disappeared from her mouth and she put on a burst of speed to sway her hips in front of them. 

When they entered the house, Lydia admonished them to all sit down at the table while she brought out the main course. She had thoughtfully put out place cards on the table; Nikita and Michael found Amy Muldoon sitting across from them. 

Lydia hurriedly set out the dishes. Nikita felt herself salivating from the smell of the Standing Rib Roast and helped herself to a large portion; she shot Michael a dirty look as he plopped a spoonful of buttered brussel sprouts on her plate. 

He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. "They're good for you." 

After the initial serving, conversation erupted between the clanking of forks and sips of red wine. "Honestly, Lydia! I _don't_ know you got this Timbale of Corn to come out so perfectly. What's your secret?" Amy Muldoon simpered. 

Michael had been faintly relieved at her lack of attention until he felt a stocking-clad foot slide up his calf. He glanced up from his meal smoothly, but the barracuda seemed engrossed in the conversation. The foot continued to roam, stroking over his knee and sliding up his thigh. Michael didn't betray a thing when the arch of her foot lay flush against his crotch, his lap covered by the tablecloth. 

Nikita appeared to be done with her meal and held her wine glass in her left hand. Michael picked up her right hand and kissed her knuckles ostentatiously, slowly lowering it to his lap. 

Nikita shot him an amused smile as she felt a foot hastily pull away under the table. There was a muffled bump as Amy Muldoon cracked her knee cap on the underside of the table. 

************ 

The group was slightly tipsy as it left Mark and Lisa Davis', having feasted upon Macedoine of Fruits in Champagne and Bourbon-soaked Chocolate Truffles. The combination of the champagne drenched strawberries, blueberries, peaches and melons with the cocoa-covered Truffles had tantalized Nikita's palate to her last taste bud. Michael had slung his arm around her and hugged her close as they strolled down the street, and Amy Muldoon was keeping her distance. 

When everyone had shuffled into their house, Nikita quickly turned on the coffee maker and began lining bottles up on the counter. "This is the bar, and we're your bartenders," she announced. "You can order something traditional, or try one of the house specials." 

"I'll have a cognac," Amy sniffed, graciously accepting her snifter from Michael. 

"House specials?" Lydia grinned, propping her elbows on the makeshift bar. "What are they?" 

Michael came up behind Nikita and dropped a kiss on her neck. "There's the 'Naughty Nikita' drink." 

Nikita smiled. "And the 'Mikey Meltdown' drink." 

Lydia dissolved into giggles and propped her head on her palm. "What are they made of?" 

"Can't tell you that. It's top secret," Nikita answered, keeping a straight face. Michael buried his nose in her neck and took a deep breath, staving off a chuckle. 

"I'll take a Naughty Nikita, then. Give my husband a Mikey Meltdown. We'll be brave," Lydia said finally, shaking he head. "Tracy! What are you having?" 

Tracy stepped up to the counter with a wicked smile on her face. "Do either of you know how to make a 'Screaming Orgasm'?" Her husband guffawed behind her. 

"If you insist," Nikita said doubtfully, pulling at her lip. "Is the table okay, or do you want to come upstairs and watch?" 

Tracy flushed rosily and clapped her hand over her mouth. "So _that's_ where the 'naughty' in the 'Naughty Nikita' came from!" Michael nodded sagely and placed her Screaming Orgasm on a napkin in front of her. 

"Thank God you didn't asked for a 'Sex on the Beach' or a 'Violent F-" 

"That's quite enough, George!" Tracy interrupted, sipping demurely at her drink. 

"I'll have a Scotch on the rocks, Michael," George continued, giving Tracy's arm a squeeze. 

"Lisa? Would you like anything?" Nikita called. 

Lisa glanced up at Nikita as if startled, and then cast a searching look at her husband. "Go ahead," Mark growled. "Bring me back a Jack and Coke." 

Everyone eventually moved to the living room to sit down; Nikita stayed behind a moment to straighten the counter and to cap some of the bottles. Her trained ear heard the muffled footfalls of someone large, and so she was prepared when Mark Davis slammed his glass down. 

"I need a refill," he said. 

"What's the magic word?" Nikita replied sourly, putting her hand on her hip. 

"You're a hot little number, aren't you? I bet your pansy husband doesn't give you what you need," Mark growled, his olive complexion reddening from the alcohol. 

"That's not the magic word," Nikita replied tightly. 

"Yeah, you want it," Mark crooned, walking around the counter with the exaggerated carefulness of someone who is very drunk and trying to hide it. He reached out a hand for her and Nikita dodged him, taking a step back. 

"Don't," she warned, her eyes flashed and her lower jaw jutted out. 

"What? That pretty boy gonna come and beat me up?" Mark reached out again. A moment later, Nikita had his arm twisted grotesquely around his back. 

"No, _I_ will," she gritted. 

"Nikita? What's going on?" Tracy stood at the doorway to the living room, a worried frown creasing her forehead. 

"Oh, I was just showing some self-defense moves to Mark. He didn't think they'd be effective on a man his size," Nikita said truthfully. Tracy's expression brightened, but she still looked on Mark with an expression of distaste. 

Ah, Nikita thought. He's probably done this before. 

Nikita released Mark and accompanied Tracy into the living room. "You know self-defense? I was just saying to Lydia that they were looking for someone to take over a few class-dates at the YWCA." 

"I, no, really I couldn't," Nikita protested. "I'm not licensed to teach." 

"Oh, come on, Nikita! You just _have_ to do it! Tracy and I are in the class." 

Nikita smiled self-effacingly. "I suppose I could give it a shot. Amy, why don't you sit in on a few classes?" 

The barracuda looked up and blinked owlishly. "Me? Take self-defense?" 

"You really should, you know," Nikita went on. "You're the one in the room who should be there the most. You're single and live alone...who knows what could happen?" 

"Well, I don't know," she hedged. 

"She's right, you know," George said helpfully, sparking murmurs of agreement from the rest of the room. 

"I insist," Nikita said firmly. 

All eyes on the room turned towards her. Amy swallowed and managed a pained smile. "Sure. Why not?" 

************ 

The party continued until nearly two in the morning. Tracy and George said their bleary-eyed good-byes and stumbled through the back door into the yard. Dan and Lydia linked arms and waved to everyone, crossing the street to their brick home. Mark and Lisa followed them out, until only Amy was left. 

She smiled coyly at Michael, who was standing near the doorway. "It's late and it's not safe for a woman to walk alone...will you walk me home, Michael?" 

Michael turned to Nikita and asked her with his eyes. She walked to his side and rested a proprietary hand on his chest. "Hurry," she said, smiling into his eyes. 

His fingers rose and brushed down her temple, coming to rest under her jaw. He tilted her chin up and brought his mouth down on hers. The kiss was hard, possessive; his velvety tongue tangled with hers, stroking against the silken walls of her mouth. They pulled apart, eyes connecting. He said, "I'll be right back." He rubbed his lips against hers again in promise. 

He retrieved his leather jacket from the hall closet and squeezed her hand as he walked through the door with Amy Muldoon. 

The crisp night breeze ruffled Michael's hair as he strode next to the petite woman. He maintained a definite space between his body and hers, alert to the sounds of cars and dogs barking. To Michael's relief, Amy didn't attempt to lure him into conversation; he was content to quietly savor the image of Nikita waiting for him in their home. 

The distance to Amy's house was not great, and only about five minutes had elapsed since they had left the comfort of the house. She preceded him up the steps, swaying her hips invitingly, and dug into her purse. Amy took her time unlocking the door, pretending a simpering female incompetence. Michael obligingly took the keys from her hand. A second later, the lock snapped open and he dropped the keys in her palm. 

"Would you like to come in?" Amy purred. Seeing the blank expression on Michael's face, her features hardened. She lunged toward him, pressing her lips against his and sliding her hands inside his jacket. Her fingernails scraped down the silk at his chest, moving around until she cupped the curves of his buttocks. Amy pulled him hard against her and ground her hips. Michael let her grope, arms hanging loose at his sides. Sensing his non-participation, Amy jerked away and stared at him. Her lips parted in shock at his carefully blank expression, his complete and utter unarousal. Something flickered in her eyes and Amy seemed to rally her courage, reaching for him again. 

"Are you finished?" he asked quietly. His blank tone acted as a slap in the face. She snatched her hand back as the words sank in completely. Amy gulped and scuttled into her house. The slamming door rattled the door knocker, provoking a resounding echo through the neighborhood. 

Michael walked down the steps in his usual, precise manner and began striding home. The twitch of a curtain across from the barracuda's house warned Michael that someone had observed the scene; he wondered idly how fast the word would spread of his rejection of the notorious homewrecker. 

Nikita flung open the door when his footsteps sounded on the wooden porch. Her blue eyes narrowed as she assessed him. "Michael," she began. Michael shushed her with his fingertips and forced her back so he could step inside the house. He closed the door behind him and shrugged off his leather jacket; Nikita waited impatiently at his side. "Did she touch you?" 

Nikita's gorge rose when Michael turned to face her. She was _angry_. Not with Michael, but with the woman who _dared_ put her hands on him. 

"Nikita --" 

"I'll bet she was on you like a PMS-ing woman to a candy bar," Nikita snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. Her chin jutted forward belligerently. The subtle change in his expression told her that he acknowledged the humor, and was faintly amused by the analogy in the midst of the situation. Nikita felt his eyes boring into her, warming her. She clutched at her anger. 

"I want _you_ ," he said simply. 

Nikita's knees quivered, arms dropping at her sides as her stomach flipped end over end. "But-" she protested, feeling her anger sliding through her fingers. Michael raised his hands to her biceps and began backing her towards the kitchen table. "She -" 

Michael's hands flexed slightly on her arms. "I want _you_." 

Nikita felt the edge of the table pressing into the back of her thighs. Her eyes searched Michael's face and found the answers. "She tried to seduce you." 

"I want _you_ ," he repeated, easing her up to sit on the table. 

His words sparked a thundering in her veins. "You rejected her," Nikita moaned, Michael's teeth nipping at her sensitive neck. His hands spread her knees so he could move between them. 

"Nikita," he sighed into her neck. His palms slid onto her cheeks and held her head still, feathering kisses over her brow, nose, lips. "I want _you_." 

"I'm a slow learner," Nikita replied finally. She reached her hands out and roughly pulled Michael closer. "What do you want?" 

Michael growled low in his throat and bit her neck, running his hot tongue over the reddening mark. "I _want_ you," he rasped. 

************ 

Nikita squeezed his hips between her thighs, pleasure coursing up from her pure feminine reaction to his admission of desire. She loved it when he took the initiative with her, when she was only required to react to his wants. She loved it when he displayed his passion for her first, feeding her desire to be reassured of his need for her. 

Nikita gasped and fisted her hands in Michael's cinnamon hair; his mouth was diligently tugging at her hardened nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. He suckled, wetting the fabric with his agile tongue. Michael's mouth left her and he breathed a puff of warm air over the damp cloth, flicking her nipple with his thumb. He turned to her neglected breast. 

When his mouth left her, Nikita whimpered and arched her hips against him. She struggled to get closer to his warm, hard body, raising her head to capture his full lips. Michael dodged the kiss, his hands kneading her hips. 

"What do you want, Nikita?" 

"You." Her hands crept up and began unfastening the buttons of his silk shirt. 

"More specific, Nikita," he chided, rotating her hips on his hardened arousal. 

Nikita groaned, becoming light-headed with desire. She kissed him defiantly where his pulse beat in the hollow of his throat and yanked his shirt down until it tangled up on his elbows. "I want you," Nikita sighed. She bit him lightly along his collarbone, her passion growing heavier as she felt his groan vibrate through his chest. "I want you in me." She scraped her teeth down his pectoral muscle and flicked a tongue over his flat nipple. "On this table." Her hands dropped from his ridged abdomen to the waist of his pants. "I want you _now_ , Michael." His silk shirt floated to the floor. 

Michael's hands took the hem of her dress and began sliding it up her long legs with excruciating slowness. When his hands reached her thighs, Michael tilted her toward him. "Put your arms around my neck," he beseeched, loving her with his changeable green eyes. 

Nikita rocked forward and clutched at his shoulders, rubbing her clothed breasts over his naked chest. He eased the fabric up over the curve of her buttocks, caressing her skin with the rough pads of his fingers. Michael leaned forward and set her back on the cool table. 

"Lift your arms," he rasped. He pulled the dress up and off, flinging it to the side. After her moment of blindness, Nikita drank in his rapt expression as it traveled from her face and settled on her bra-less chest. He bent again, hot mouth roughly teasing each sensitized breast. Nikita's hands caressed the curve of his back, tracing over the hot skin. 

Nikita's hands fumbled with the snap of his pants. Michael came to her aid when she began tugging the slacks down his hips. Nikita leaned back provocatively on her elbows and watched him shed his clothing, her eyes half-lidded. When the hard lines of his body were revealed, Michael tugged Nikita's hips to the edge of the table. He slipped his fingers under the elastic of her underwear, pulling it taut against her throbbing wetness. 

"Take them off," she groaned, eyelids fluttering. Michael kneeled and teased the scrap of silk down her legs, following its path with his mouth. Nikita's jaw locked and a scream gurgled in her throat when Michael parted her folds with his fingers and delved inside with his tongue. She locked her thighs around his neck and lay back on the table, the small of her back arching upwards. He lapped at her liquid depths, alternating his stroking with hard jabs and soft licks. His thumbs rubbed circles on the sensitive skin at the back of her thighs. 

Nikita gyrated wildly against his seeking mouth as he began tilting his head back and forth, scraping his stubble against her skin and reaching even deeper inside with his tongue. Delicious pressure coiled tighter and tighter until it burst behind her eyes. Nikita arched off the table as if her spine had been shortened, breathing heavily with pleasure as Michael's tongue continued to stroke within her contracting muscles. 

"Mi-chael," she gasped, her voice cracking with desire. He pressed a kiss to each of her slightly abraded inner thighs and stood up. His swollen arousal rubbed against her as he leaned over and planted his hands beside her ribcage. 

"Nikita, what do you want me to do?" 

"Take me," she said, still breathless. When he simply smiled down on her, eyes darkened from passion, Nikita added, " _Now._ " She clutched at his shoulders and hauled herself up. She tasted her own muskiness on his lips, pushing her over the edge into wildness. 

Michael rubbed the head of his shaft against her teasingly before finally penetrating her. Nikita clenched her teeth and moaned her frustration when his hands locked her hips to the table, forcing her to endure the torture of his hard arousal sliding into her inch by inch. Nikita was ready to scream from the pleasure-pain his rigid length was evoking, when Michael finally buried himself completely inside her. 

"Hard, Michael," Nikita ordered, biting his earlobe fiercely. She laughed with wild pleasure as he jumped inside her. "Yes," she hissed as Michael began stroking into her. Nikita bit at his jaw just below his earlobe, biting him again when he groaned in response. She worried at his neck with her tongue and teeth, abrading his skin. Michael pounded into her relentlessly, but it wasn't enough to assuage her intense aching. Nikita wound her arms and around his waist and cupped his buttocks, grinding into his harsh thrusts. 

Sensing her desperation, Michael said, "Lie back." Nikita gazed into his eyes, with her blonde hair fanned on the wooden table, doing as he said and trusting in his ability to give her pleasure. Without breaking their intimate connection, he drew her calves up to rest on his shoulders. Nikita gasped as the new position allowed him to slide even farther inside; she flashed Michael a smile. 

Thank God I'm flexible, she thought, knowing Michael was thinking it, too. 

He ground into her with force, and Nikita splayed her arms and grasped the edge of the table. Michael anchored her hips, and pulled her against him as he beat into her. Nikita was letting out small, keening gasps as he stroked up one wall, twisted their hips, and stroked up another. His head was hitting her so deeply, Nikita might have been worried about damage, had she not been enjoying it so much. 

No, _enjoying_ was not the word. She felt his swollen length thrusting into her, felt him in every pore, every jangling nerve. Everything in her body arched toward him, toward his straining muscles. Nikita opened her eyes and gazed at his face, framed by sweat-dampened curls of cinnamon hair. She locked eyes with Michael as he brought her up over the edge and plunged her into the roaring cataclysm. As she contracted around him, Michael continued to thrust against her overly sensitized walls; the added stimulus locked Nikita's jaw into a soundless scream of supreme release. 

************ 

When her body ceased its shuddering contractions, Nikita realized dimly that Michael was still hard inside her. Incredibly, he had held back his release. In fact, he had swelled even larger, causing a delicious friction in what was already an admittedly tight fit. 

Nikita gave her hips a little twitch and delighted in Michael's low groan, his neck temptingly exposed as he threw back his head. Desire rejuvenated her tired muscles, buzzing in her ears. 

"Chair," she rasped quietly when Michael again looked her in the eye. A slow smile spread over his lips and he scooped her up against his chest. When her full weight was pressing Michael's hard erection into her, Nikita nearly lost her carefully gathered control. 

"Oooh," she moaned, wrapping her arms around his strong neck to steady herself. Michael lifted her and backed to one of the high-backed chairs surrounding the kitchen table. He collapsed bonelessly onto the chair, roughly letting Nikita's weight at their joined hips drive his arousal deeply inside. Nikita sat on motionless on his splayed thighs, gasping into his teeth-marked neck. "Wicked man," she hissed when her lungs started working again. He chuckled into her throat when Nikita drew herself up. She grinned at him and wrapped her hands on the high back of the chair. She wedged her heels into the lower slats of the chair, unmercifully smiling as Michael's chuckle blended into a moan. 

His mouth tugged at a nipple in retaliation, her position giving him the perfect access to suckle at her small, perfect breasts. Nikita used her strong arms and legs to lever herself up and she ground down on Michael's pulsing arousal. He took her entire breast into his mouth, scraping the soft tissue with his teeth, licking lines up and across with his tongue. 

Nikita arched her neck back and rode him harder, pulling herself down on him and squeezing with her inner muscles. Michael's teeth closed on her neck, stinging her skin, to Nikita's vicious gratification. She increased her pace, his hands moving to her hips to help her along. He began bucking upwards to meet her downward thrust, biting the muscles along her shoulder each time she gyrated her hips. 

Nikita moved her feet back to spread her thighs wider and arched her back even more. Michael's gasping breath at her neck drove her wild; she pressed her dangerously aroused breasts into his chest, feeling his erection jump spasmodically when her hardened nipples scraped up and down his pectorals. The air was filled with harsh breathing and muffled grunts as they ground together, muscles straining, filmed with sweat. Nikita thrust down on him quickly, gyrating her hips in her drive for his release. 

When she could feel his muscles begin trembling beneath her, Nikita decided to give him a push. She clamped her knees to the sides of the chair and arched backwards until her lower back rested on Michael's thighs. He was deep inside her, his hard length rubbing against her clit. 

"'Kita," he choked, his voice guttural and unnaturally deep. Her inner muscles clamped around his arousal, thighs pressing into his waist as she used her abdominal muscles to pull herself back up. When she rocked back upright, the friction was too much. Nikita came, and Michael with her. Their shared orgasm was as violent as their lovemaking, their muscles drawn taut as the paroxysms of her inner muscles closed around his beating erection. Gasping sighs wracked their lungs and they shuddered together. 

Michael wrapped his arms around Nikita's midsection and hugged her tightly to him; she drooped against his chest, exhausted from the aftermath. 

************ 

They sat there for what seemed like hours, folded in the other's arms, feeling pleasantly weak and satisfied. Michael brushed Nikita's sweat-tangled hair from her face, uncovering her Cheshire grin. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was deep and even, but Michael sensed that she was awake. He pressed a soft kiss against her forehead and tried not to move. In the state he was in, another twitch of Nikita's hips would send them right back to the beginning. 

"Michael?" she sighed, her lashes still spread becomingly on her cheeks. 

"Yes, 'Kita?" 

"Hold me tighter," she said, her tone distracted. She snuggled against him, resting her right cheek on his shoulder. 

"I didn't want to hurt you," Michael said. He raised a finger and traced it along the reddening marks on her throat, neck, breasts... 

"Any more than you already have, you mean," she joked, cracking open her eyelids. "I won't break, Michael. Even if I did, I'd _really_ enjoy it." 

Michael didn't answer her; he simply continued running his fingers through her hair, lifting up the strands and watching them float back down to her flushed skin. Her fingers crept up to the abraded marks across his shoulders. Nikita levered herself up and delicately licked the rough spot she had created earlier. Michael's hoarse gasp encouraged her to do it again, moving along his shoulder to his neck. 

"Ni-ki-ta," he rasped, his accent thick on the syllables. "Don't--" 

Nikita gasped in surprise as she felt him stirring inside her. She grinned down into his eyes, showing him her surprise and her very real pleasure. "Yes, Michael," Nikita purred. "Yes." She bent her head and kissed him languorously, rocking against him with aching slowness. He surged to life inside her, filling her emptiness again. Nikita felt his muscles gather and gazed at him questioningly. Michael searched her face and stood up. She clutched at his neck and shivered as Michael began walking towards the stairs. 

"Michael?" Nikita asked, her eyes widening and taking on a wicked gleam. His smile was slight, but she saw it and braced herself as Michael took the first step up. The motion of his climbing the stairs while buried inside her elicited delicious sensations. Each step up was a small thrust against one of her inner walls, frustratingly short. She rested her forehead to his, sighing deeply at each torturously slow step. 

When they reached the top of the stairs, Nikita could hold back no longer. Her muscles spasmed around him in a gentle, languorous climax. She could see his warm green eyes through her fluttering eyelashes, could feel his strong hands flexing on her skin. Michael carried her into the bedroom while she contracted around his arousal and kneeled on the bed. Nikita felt the soft, cool sheets at her back as he lowered her down. She whimpered when his full weight shifted so they were both lying on their sides, gently rocking together. He tangled his legs in hers, barely brushing the skin on her exposed arm and back with his fingertips. Nikita nestled against him, tangling her fingers in his hair and resting the arch of her foot on the back of his calf. 

The sensation was intensely erotic, this slow rocking of hips. Their oversensitized skins touched from forehead to foot. Their eyes were locked, half-lidded, pupils dilated so that only a small ring of color was visible. Lips rubbing softly, limbs entangled, they moved together through the night. 

************ 

Nikita felt herself coming awake. Her cheek was pressed against something warm and hard; Michael's musky scent was filling her nose, bringing with it feelings of safety, comfort, and spicy arousal. Her legs were trapped against his by a tightly wound sheet that was binding them from hip to knee. Nikita smiled into his chest when she felt him begin running his fingers through her hair and down her naked back. 

"'ow do you feel?" His accent was always thick in the morning, voice rough from sleep. 

Nikita made a low purring sound deep in her throat and snuggled closer his warm body. "I feel...well-used." She slid her chin across his chest to peer up into his green eyes. He was staring down at her so seriously, Nikita felt the need to cheer him up. She untangled her hand from the sheets and slipped it between their bodies. During its torturously slow trek downwards, Nikita said, "The phrase, 'ridden hard and put away wet' comes to mind..." 

Nikita let out a throaty little moan of approval as her searching hand found him under the covers, already hardening from the husky sound of her voice. Her eyes went back to his face, finding a small smile tilting the corners of his sensual mouth. Michael's fingers brushed a lock of her hair back behind her ear and gently pulled her hand from beneath the covers. He brought her hand up to his kiss-swollen lips and suckled at her palm, teeth worrying at the skin between her forefinger and thumb. 

"Let me see your hand," Nikita said lazily, growing pleasantly aroused by the ministrations of his mouth. Michael gave her his version of a quizzical look, and allowed her to pull his right hand to her face. Nikita traced her fingers up his life line and over the various calluses he had acquired. She flipped his hand over and examined it back, caressing his skin with the pads of her fingers. 

"'Kita?" His head was tilted, eyebrows raised under a curtain of curly hair. 

"Well, it's just that you don't have large hands," Nikita explained, pressing her left palm to Michael's. His hand was only slightly larger. She glanced up from their joined hands to see the skin around Michael's eyes crinkled. From amusement. 

"Is that a problem?" he asked. 

"It isn't the hands that matter," Nikita conceded with a wicked grin. "Let's see, the distance from your elbow to your wrist is supposed to be the size of your foot." Nikita extended his muscled forearm, tracing her fingers across the bulging veins. His body was so different from hers, and right now she was embarking on a delightful discovery. "Impressive, Michael." She flicked her glance back at his face, heartened to see a rare grin curving his chiseled profile. "Now I'll see if that's accurate." 

At that, Nikita began wriggling over him; she managed to turn around, presenting Michael with her very bare rear end and wiggling back under the covers. She slithered down his body, pleased to hear a muffled groan through the sheets. Her tousled blonde head emerged from the sheets at the foot of the bed. She grasped Michael's foot with one hand, running her finger down his arch with the other. 

"Report." 

Nikita's neck snapped around and she stared incredulously at Michael's uttered command. It appeared his sense of humor was back again, always unexpected. 

"You have large feet, Michael," Nikita responded, barely managing a serious expression. 

"What does that mean?" he asked His head was leaning on his palm, elbow dug into the pillow. 

"You _know_ what that means," Nikita purred, rubbing her abdomen over Michael's burgeoning arousal. He gave no indication of his desire, smiling down on her from his relaxed position. Piqued, Nikita ran her fingers down his arch again. This time, she felt his muscles twitch almost imperceptibly. Experimentally, she tickled the bottom of his foot. Nikita felt his thigh muscles clench beneath her. 

Nikita raised herself up on her palms and grinned at him. "You're _ticklish_ there!" 

"Nikita," he warned, raising his head from his palm. It was too late; she had already turned her attention back to his feet, intent on tickling the sensitive soles of his feet. Nikita attacked his feet with gusto, clamping her arm around his calves and tickling furiously with her free hand. Unable to kick without fear of causing injury, Michael writhed beneath her. Nikita giggled at his grunt of frustration and began tickling his other foot. 

"Oomph!" Nikita grunted. Michael's hands were at her knees, hauling her up through the covers and away from his feet. His arm clamped around her waist and he hauled her up to lay flush against his chest; his heavy arousal pressed into her from behind. 

"Michael!" she protested, jerking at his hold. Michael was ruthlessly tickling her abdomen, fingers flicking at the skin around her waist and at the side under her arms. "Sto-op," she gasped. Nikita writhed around in his hold, grasping his hands in hers and pressing them up against the head board. 

"You started it," Michael said from his submissive position beneath her, his expression serious. 

************* 

Nikita's chest heaved from the tickling session, pushing her breasts forward perilously close to Michael's face. She grinned as his serious expression faded into one of intense appreciation. 

"Do you want me to finish it, Michael?" she purred, gyrating her hips. His hands clenched at hers where they were joined above his head. 

Nikita was leaning in to capture his lips when a knock fell on the door. "Whoever it is --" Nikita growled, biting off her exclamation. She pushed herself back violently and slipped off the bed, padding to the window. Nikita bent down and peered at the back door. "What's Tracy doing here?" 

Nikita turned back to Michael. He was sprawled on the mussed sheets, cinnamon hair curling in his eyes. His prominent arousal was displayed advantageously by his bent knee, his upper body raised on his elbows. Nikita licked her lips, her throat going dry at the sight of his hard body. 

"I'd better get the door," she rasped, pulling her robe off the closet door knob. 

I'm already up, Nikita thought. And I certainly don't want anyone but me seeing him like _this_! 

Nikita belted her robe and walked out of the bedroom, feeling Michael's eyes burning into her back. Out of his sight, she winced slightly as she made her way down the stairs. Her hips and back were sore from the workout from the night before, but she wasn't about to let on to Michael. 

Her feet shushed softly on the linoleum as she crossed the kitchen. Nikita flicked the dead bolt and unlatched the chain, opening the door just wide enough to poke her head outside. 

"Good morning," Nikita greeted, wincing a little at the bright sunlight. "Or should I be saying, 'Good afternoon'?" 

"It's two," Tracy said, laughing at Nikita's pained expression. "Can I come in for a minute? I think I left my purse here last night." 

"Oh, sure," Nikita said, swinging the door open wider. Tracy stepped inside with a friendly smile and followed her into the kitchen, where Tracy's steps faltered. She took in the dishes still strewn about from last night, and the condition of the kitchen table and chair. Nikita stepped forward and hurriedly bundled last night's discarded clothes into a ball, tucking it under her arm. 

"Unh." Tracy blinked, seeming to realize she had just made some incomprehensible sound communicating her embarrassment and envy, and turned her wide eyes on Nikita. "I think I left my purse in the living room." 

"Okay," Nikita said, clutching her robe around her neck in an attempt to hide the further evidence of her and Michael's wild abandon. She trailed Tracy into the living room and hitched her hip up on the arm of the couch. 

"So, uh, is Michael here?" Tracy asked hesitantly, searching quickly through the room. 

"Yes," Nikita answered, her eyes widening innocently. "He's upstairs." 

Tracy knelt down and tugged at a black strap that was peeking out from under the couch. "There it is!" Her purse slid out and Tracy picked it up gratefully. "I don't even know why I brought it with me." 

"Need anything else?" Nikita asked, jumping up from the couch and heading towards the back door. 

Tracy got the hint. "No, I have to go. I'm taking my kids shopping. That's why I needed the purse!" 

Nikita shut the door quickly behind her, watching Tracy glance up at their bedroom window and shake her head as she crossed the lawn. Nikita threw the bolt and chain home and practically ran back upstairs. 

************ 

Nikita bounded up the stairs, pausing in the doorway. Michael had turned on his side, away from the door. One muscled arm clamped a pillow over his head, curls peeking from beneath the pillow case. The length of his back was exposed above the rumpled sheets rucked up to his waist. Nikita dredged her eyes down from his strong shoulders, lingering momentarily on the red half-moons her fingernails had dug into his shoulder blades, to where his muscled back tapered to his hips. 

Nikita sighed softly from the doorway and stepped into the room. She had advanced halfway to the bed when Michael flipped over. He brought the pillow with him, staring up at her sideways with half-lidded green eyes. Nikita felt her knees liquefy as the sheet stretched taut across his thighs, a lazy smile playing on his lips. Michael was beautiful in his child-like repose, a hand tucked up under his chin. Her eyes wandered again. 

There's nothing child-like about the _rest_ of him, she thought. 

Overcome with the need to touch the sprawled man she could claim as _hers_ , Nikita knelt down at his side of the bed and propped her folded forearms next to his pillow. She leaned forward and placed teasing kiss on his lips. Michael slid his hand out from underneath his stubbled chin and brushed his thumb over her temple. 

"Where were we?" Nikita asked. Her fingers were tracing patterns down Michael's smooth chest. 

"You were going to finish something," Michael prompted, dragging his thumb across her swollen lips. 

Nikita's blue eyes glowed with the hunger that had been pulsing in her groin since Michael's soft caress had brought her from sleep. She parted her lips and bit Michael's thumb, wanting to devour him in her need. Nikita climbed up onto the bed and Michael shifted to give her room. She pressed her hands against his shoulders in a silent command to lean back; Nikita untied the belt of her robe and straddled Michael with her thighs, barely touching his skin. Suddenly, she grasped his hands and flung them above his head. 

"Like this?" she whispered, rising to her knees so the robe fell tantalizingly open. 

"Yes." 

Nikita shoved the sheet down with her foot and pressed against his still-hard arousal. His hips bucked up as she rocked, threading his fingers through hers at the head board. 

"Do you want me, Michael?" Nikita asked. She danced over the head of his arousal, watching his eyes darken and change color with desire. 

Voice rough, Michael growled, "Yes, Nikita. I _want_ you." 

"Good," she purred, lowering herself down. The pulsing ache in her groin amplified as he entered her, his hard length rubbing at her much-used inner walls. The friction was delicious; Nikita arched back and lowered herself until Michael was completely buried inside her. And then the world turned over. 

Michael had flipped her onto her back, his hands holding hers captive above their heads. His powerful muscles shifted and he thrust into her. Nikita gasped at the sensitivity of her inner walls and dug her heels into the mattress to meet his hard strokes. Consumed with a need to control his desire, Nikita flipped Michael over. She landed on top with a groan and writhed on him. Their muscles strained together, simultaneously gyrating towards each other and fighting for dominance. 

Gasping, Michael wrestled Nikita onto her back and rocked into her with hard, harsh strokes. He bent down and nibbled at Nikita's breast, biting her nipple when she tried to flip him over again. Nikita groaned and ground her hips upwards to meet his thrusts, aching with the need to be filled by him. His hot mouth came down on her breast again, tantalizing the skin with his rough velvet tongue until she keened with ecstasy. 

They tumbled again, but Michael refused to cede dominance. His mouth was everywhere, nipping at her neck, lips, breasts. Nikita gave up the struggle and strained with him, her heels pressed to the backs of his thighs. Michael thrust into her deeply once, twice, filling her so utterly that Nikita couldn't breathe. He thrust into her again, his tongue mimicking his actions by sliding into her mouth and holding her scream of release captive. 

"Michael," she sighed. Her hands jerked spasmodically in his grip, still joined above their heads. He brushed his lips over her forehead as they came together, the contractions radiating outwards from where their bodies were joined. They shuddered there, sprawling diagonally across the bed, the sheets pulled from the mattress and twisted beneath them. 

************ 

Nikita woke with a start, snuggled in Michael's warm embrace, his body still half-covering hers on the extremely rumpled bed. Michael's stomach rumbled again, provoking an answering snarl from her tummy. He raised his head from its rest on her shoulder and peered sleepily into her eyes. 

"Hungry, 'Kita?" he murmured, nuzzling her cheek. His stubble rasped erotically over her skin. 

"Lunch. I need food," she answered decisively. Her stomach snarled again and she giggled as Michael glanced down at her abdomen as if he expected an alien to burst from her ribcage. 

"Closer to dinner," Michael said, peering at the light pouring in from the windows. He rolled to her side, propping his curly head on one lithe arm. Nikita stretched, clasping her hands above her head and lifting her lower back from the bed. 

"Oooh," she groaned, as her over-worked muscles clamored at the movement. 

Michael leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "Go take a shower. I'll cook." 

"How can I refuse?" Nikita replied. She grinned up at him and pushed a lock of his hair behind an ear. 

"You can't." 

Nikita smiled saucily at his commanding tone and hauled herself upright, padding to the bathroom with a sway to her hips. She shot him a look over her shoulder before entering the bathroom, pleased that he was still lying there on the bed and pointedly watching her every step. Nikita left the door open a crack and turned on the taps, gratefully stepping under the pounding spray. Hot water poured over her very satisfied and very sore body; the steamy water combined with her weariness made Nikita dizzy, and she quickly decided to switch to a bath. She lowered herself into the tub, sighing with pleasure and rested her head on the lip. 

When she opened her eyelids, she saw a pair of amused green eyes staring back at her. Michael was crouched by the tub, hair damp and wearing only a pair of frayed jeans. 

He must have used the half-bath downstairs, Nikita thought muzzily. 

"'Kita," Michael cajoled, tracing his fingers down her jaw. 

"Mmm?" Nikita answered, blinking at him in sweet disorientation. 

"Your food is ready." 

"Okay," Nikita replied vaguely, her eyes closing again. Michael's hands closed under her arms and beneath her knees, lifting her from the cooling water. He set her down and hit the drain. Water gurgled happily out of the tub as Michael gently toweled her dry. He wrapped the towel around her long hair turban-like and coaxed her into a robe. Swinging her into his arms again, Michael walked down the stairs and deposited her in a chair at the kitchen table. By now, Nikita had mostly recovered her senses but was unwilling to stop Michael's sweet ministrations. 

"Michael?" 

He half-turned from where he was preparing a plate, his damp jeans molding the fabric to his thighs. "Yes?" 

"Feed me." 

************ 

The dinner had been a simple affair, with Nikita noisily slurping down the bowl of broccoli and cheese soup that Michael placed in front of her. She had nipped at his fingers ravenously when Michael tried to wipe away a drop of soup from her chin. 

"More," she had demanded, eyeing his plate with unconcealed interest. Michael had hastily refilled her bowl and brought a plate of cold chicken sandwiches to the table. He had regarded her with a mixed expression of horror and amusement when Nikita had exclaimed that the sandwich was the best she had ever eaten, and sprayed him with bits of bread and half-chewed chicken in her exuberance. 

With a pained look, Michael had removed the dishes from the table when the food disappeared into her mouth to keep her from licking at the crumbs; to spite him, Nikita had sucked noisily at her fingers and smacked her lips in appreciation. 

Madeline's deportment lessons be damned, she had thought merrily. I'm feeling good. 

After Michael had cleared away the mess she had made, Nikita decided to push her luck some more. 

"Michael? Can I have a back rub?" 

He had sighed heavily, obviously unwilling to deny her anything. "Yes, Nikita." 

* 

Now they were back in a rental car, going through the motions to avoid possible tails on the way to take out their target. Nikita discreetly checked her purse to make sure the compact spray gun didn't cause any suspicious bulges and rearranged her shoulder holster underneath her polyvinyl jacket. She and Michael were both dressed in unremarkable clothes popular in trendy clubs, a combination of silk and leather. 

Well, Nikita thought, they'd be unremarkable on anyone _else_. 

Nikita's eyes dipped down to Michael's leather-covered thigh just as the thick muscle bulged when Michael braked for a stop light. She swept her eyes up to admire his hands on the steering wheel, less dangerous territory when viewed from afar. Nikita sighed softly and leaned back in her seat, almost lulled by the companionable silence. A tiny smile curved her lips when she again realized the kooky routine she and Michael had adopted for this mission: bake cookies, then do some industrial espionage; clean the garage, then take out a terrorist. Instead of picking up dry-cleaning, she restocked their supply of bullets. 

"Ready?" 

Michael's voice knocked Nikita out of her reverie. She smiled at him and he got out first to open her door. Nikita had the sneaking suspicion he wasn't doing it so much out of chivalry than the fact that Michael didn't want her to flash the loiterers in the parking lot. 

************ 

Nikita and Michael strode together to the entrance of the club, heels falling on the pavement in sync. Michael's shoulders swayed in time with Nikita's hips. A breeze fluttered their jackets, ruffling Nikita's unbound golden hair and teasing Michael's curls from behind his ears. Together, they were an imposing pair, garnering gawking stares from those who waited in line. If someone were to make the observation that they looked like a Valkyrie and a panther, Nikita would snort and Michael would simply blink. Deep down, each would acknowledge the inherent _rightness_ of the observation of the other while simultaneously shrugging off the description of one's self. The bouncer took one look at the two operatives and stood aside, recognizing style when he saw it. 

The pair prowled into the club, all traces of their earlier playfulness gone from their features. By tacit agreement, Michael and Nikita headed to the bar and automatically took up positions covering all the exits. 

"ETA?" Nikita whispered, leaning forward until a cinnamon curl tickled her nose. 

"Surveillance indicates the target arrives around eleven," Michael replied, shifting his gaze to signal the bartender. 

Nikita nodded and sipped delicately at her newly delivered drink, keeping up a sweeping pattern with her eyes. Michael's nearness buzzed in her nerve ends, but didn't distract her; rather, the slight electrical current soothed her and heightened her already acute senses. The minute change in Michael's posture alerted her to the entrance of the target before he had the chance to make any verbal confirmation. 

Nikita therefore didn't twitch a muscle when Michael whispered, "We have visual on the target." 

_This_ is why we have an unparalleled success rate on our paired missions, Nikita thought. 

She remained immobile as Michael rose from his stool and began threading his way through the crowd towards the back of the club. When Michael disappeared from her line of sight, Nikita set her drink down and prepared for action. 

Heroin chic just doesn't do it for me, Nikita thought acidly when Von Sants came into view. 

His hair was black and stringy from a lack of a rigorous personal hygiene regimen, but his face was handsome enough when one looked past the thin line of facial hair outlining his jaw. Von Sants' features seemed to be a mix of Spanish and Asian, combining dark skin and almond-shaped eyes. Nikita gauged him to be around thirty, but knew from the profile that he was several years older. And wily. 

Nikita schooled her features into an appropriate look of boredom and hauteur, and crossed her legs to provide an ample expanse of thigh. When Sants scanned the room seconds later, his dark eyes fixed on her hemline, and he advanced towards the bar. 

************ 

It hadn't been easy, Nikita mused, to lure him into the club bathroom. In fact, it had been downright _wearying_. 

Sants' initial, "Hello," had revealed that the terrorist possessed a rich, accented voice. Nikita shivered when she realized she might have found his throaty murmur seductive had she not been aware of his proclivity toward bombing women and children. And then, there was Michael. His slightly accented, soft voice echoed in her ears saying, _"We have visual on the target."_ Odd, how the most innocuous phrase could be turned into an erotic caress from his lips. His voice had ruined her for all men, she was sure. 

Ah, Michael. 

Nikita had fallen back on all the powers of observation her former trainer had onerously drilled into her in order to convince Sants of her interest. She had slowly allowed her carefully schooled expression of cool disinterest to melt into one of sexual appraisal. Still, Von Sants hadn't been easily convinced. 

"What are you doing here alone?" he had asked. A common come-on for most men on the prowl, Sants imbued the question with sensuality and just enough curiosity to raise Nikita's hackles. She had to approach him with the utmost caution. 

"To tell the truth," Nikita said, running the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass, "I just got out of a relationship." 

"Mmm," Sants grunted, sipping at his drink. No, not grunted. _Purred_. "Long-term?" 

Nikita flashed him a saucy smile. "Long-term for me." 

"So you decided to treat yourself to a night on the town?" 

"Something like that," Nikita agreed, flicking her eyes down his compact form. 

"Tell me something--" he paused, tilting his head towards her questioningly. 

"Nikita," she supplied, gifting him with the full attention of her blue eyes. 

"Tell me something, Nikita. What kind of man would let a woman like you get away?" 

Nikita answered his seductive tone in kind, letting her voice grow husky. "He wasn't much of a man." 

The banter had continued on like that for what seemed like ages to Nikita. It was a dangerous combination of thrusts and parries, what Nikita _hoped_ would be construed as a conscious imitation of foreplay. Still, she must have successfully communicated her _desire_ to Sants; when she finally whispered her proposition into his ear, his eyes had gleamed in delighted response. 

"You're a bad girl," he murmured, drawing her up from her bar stool. 

"I know what I want," she said, inexorably pulling him through the crowd and tantalizing him with a decisive sway to her hips. She finally backed into the men's bathroom, holding Sants by his hands. "Don't keep me waiting." 

************ 

Nikita tried to recall a time when she had been more relieved to see Michael. Perhaps when she'd driven up with Madeline in Eastern Europe, callously running down Petrosian's soldiers, and been rocked with a vast wave of joy to see him walking under his own power. But that relief had a different flavor; here, in the men's bathroom, Nikita was fiercely glad that Michael was going to take over the mission and accept the volatile Sants into his very capable hands. 

Michael swung open the door of the last paint-chipped stall just as Sants' roving hands swept upwards and contacted with her holster. His flash of surprised anger was overridden by fear as Michael's hand closed over his mouth. Nikita neatly side-stepped the two men and hurried out the door to guard the bathroom, while Michael wrestled Sants into the stall. She heard a faint puff of air as Michael released the contents of the spray gun into Von Sants' neck before the door closed behind her. 

Inside, Michael had slammed Sants into the back of the stall. Sants' legs splayed haphazardly over the sweaty toilet reservoir tank he sat upon, Michael's fingers digging into his neck. Hard enough to interfere with his breathing, yet without using so much pressure as to cause bruising. Sants' struggles grew progressively weaker as the poison seeped into his system. After a final twitch, the breath rattled from his throat, muscles going slack. 

Grimly, Michael began arranging Sants into the appropriate position. He was well known for his hard-core drug use, and Michael had to make it appear like Sants had pulled an Elvis. Heart attack on the toilet...although Michael had decided _against_ a peanut butter and banana sandwich as an accompaniment when initially drafting the profile. 

Michael tugged Sants' tight leather pants down and propped the dead terrorist on the toilet seat, carefully balancing the bundle of loose muscles. Task done, Michael quietly exited the stall through the bottom, having locked it from the inside. He walked to the sink and thoroughly washed his hands of the residue from the bathroom floor. 

He knocked on the door once and pulled it open, greeted by the back of Nikita's blonde head and the belligerent set of her shoulders. 

"Sequence complete," he murmured behind her, leaning in to inhale her flowery scent after the powerful musk of Sants' cologne. 

Nikita half-turned and flickered her eyelids to communicate her understanding. She and Michael started to move down the dead-end hallway and back to the dance floor when loud voices floated down the black-painted walls. 

Michael and Nikita turned, their innate awareness of each other causing their reaction times to be only split-seconds apart. As one, they used the tried-and-true tactic of pretending to make-out to divert attention from their internecine activities. Michael backed Nikita into the wall opposite the bathrooms and pulled their hips together. At the same time, Nikita wound her arms around his neck and dug her fingers into his hair. 

************ 

Michael's mouth closed on hers as the rowdy group advanced down the hall towards the bathroom. A moan escaped Nikita's throat as she tasted him, his lips washing away the residual acrid tang of Sants' mouth. Despite the mission, Nikita felt the dormant force of her desire rise and unfold. She arched against Michael's body, her fingers pressing his head to hers. His silken mouth and rough tongue felt so good, so _right_... 

For a fleeting moment, Nikita experienced a sort of revelation. 

She wondered: Is this how he feels after a Valentine mission? Then, frantically: Am I using him? 

Michael's hands at her hips rocked her against him; his not-so-gentle caress gave Nikita the concrete proof she was looking for. No, she was definitely _not_ just using him. He wanted her, too, his muscles tensed with desire. The mission was complete, they were both safe and unhurt. All they needed to do was exit the club. 

Contented with the explanation that, after involuntarily enduring another man's pawing, all she wanted to do was lose herself in the man she _did_ want, Nikita strained closer. Their arms were wrapped tightly around each other, hips involved in a jerky, yet highly erotic, dance. Both breathed heavily, lips nipping, sucking, teasing. 

Nikita's brain dimly registered the arrival of the few people for whom she and Michael were putting on this performance. Her senses automatically took in their positions, her eyes scanned them for hidden weapons under her passion-heavy lids. From the angle Michael was licking her neck, Nikita could tell he was doing the same thing. Her training bore her through the assault of Michael's tongue, but only his hands kept her upright as he continued. 

The club goers by and large ignored them, acting blas� about the gorgeous pair practically devouring each other a few feet away. A few younger men turned bright red and mumbled something about using the bathroom later; one young woman stared at Michael's leather-covered rear end with a speculative leer on her face. 

If Nikita hadn't been enjoying Michael's length pressed against her _quite_ so much, she would have warned the girl off. And gleefully slapped her around if she had been belligerent. Nikita's mind fogged momentarily as Michael's teeth scraped along her bottom lip; she greedily parted her lips and delved her tongue into his mouth. When they broke apart, Michael nuzzled his lips along her jawbone. 

Her thoughts vaguely returned to the girl leering at Michael, completely ignoring the men who were staring at her with lascivious interest. Nikita hated the women's locker room at Section just because of that, the incessant discussion of Michael's attributes. The length of his hair. The color of his eyes. The size of his endowment. Realistically, Nikita didn't mind them discussing Michael when she wasn't _around_ to hear; the fact that he was so widely desired sometimes gave her a little charge when he proved that he wanted _her_ and her alone. Nikita couldn't quite put a finger on why she disliked hearing them talk about him while she was within earshot. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it was anger at their hope-filled expressions that she would set them straight on the facts they all wondered about. Maybe it was insecurity -- 

************ 

Nikita's thoughts shattered into incoherence when Michael lightly ground his hips against her. His lips tugged at her earlobe, driving all thoughts of insecurity from her mind as his arousal pressed into her hips. 

If those women in the locker room only knew, Nikita mused, I would never hear the end of their questions. They'd probably try to tie me down and interrogate me in the White Room. 

They had to know, anyway. As rumor had it, surveillance duty on Michael's missions was very popular. _Especially_ surveillance on her and Michael's paired missions. 

"We're clear," Michael murmured. 

Nikita reached out and wound her fingers through his as Michael led her down the hallway. She didn't want to break contact with him; the reality of what they had done was sinking in, and Nikita suddenly felt ill. 

She had just seduced a man into the bathroom, where he had met his death. And Michael had watched him die. Nikita shivered in a delayed reaction. 

Sensing her disquiet, Michael sat down at the bar and drew her onto his lap. Nikita gratefully snuggled against him, tucking her head under his chin. They sat that way for a while, Michael sipping at his drink, supporting her with one strong arm. The bartender eventually made his way over to and cast Nikita an evaluating glance. 

"She looks like she's had a few too many," he observed to Michael. His manner indicated that her supposed intoxication was unacceptable to the house rules. Instead of contradicting him, Michael simply nodded. 

"Time to go, Nikita," he murmured into her ear. Nikita sighed and stood up, taking the criticism of the bartender in stride. She realized that if they argued with the man, they would surely fix themselves into his memory of this night, something the two operatives should avoid at all costs. 

There must be something about us and bars, Nikita mused. 

Michael led her back to their car and settled her in the passenger side, then walked around the front end and climbed into the driver's seat. He pulled out into traffic and began driving them to another club, where they were to meet Lucas again. 

"You know, Michael, you're the only man I know who wouldn't blame this on PMS," Nikita quipped, feeling her equilibrium returning to normal. She'd done this sort of thing before, and doubtless, she would have to do it again. It was best if she moved on; the sooner, the better. 

A street light flashed over Michael's face right after she spoke, illuminating the small quirk to his lips. He flicked his eyes over her briefly before returning his gaze to the road. His contained amusement caught her with surprise, until Nikita realized she had been using the term 'PMS' quite a bit in the last 24 hours. 

Well, Nikita thought. Maybe there's merit to that idea. I'd better check the calendar. 

"I know you, Nikita," Michael finally replied. Nikita rested her head against the passenger side window and stared at him, somewhat amused by his response. 

"In other words, you're familiar with my mood swings," Nikita commented dryly. 

************ 

Several minutes passed without response. Nikita grinned, realizing that silence was the best reply Michael could give. She could, and probably would, badly twist anything he might say. A uniquely female prerogative. 

Very astute, Michael, Nikita observed to herself. 

Ridiculously, Nikita found herself wondering what Michael's response would be if she ever asked, "Do I look fat in this?" 

As they grew closer to their destination, Nikita steeled herself for another meeting with Lucas. He reminded her faintly of a seedier Mick Schtoppel, with even less class than the Section informant. If that were physically possible. 

Michael pulled into the packed parking lot and maneuvered the car around several drunken people filing out of the club. He parked, and again solicitously opened her door. This time, Nikita couldn't resist. 

"Very chivalrous, Michael. Is my skirt too short for you?" 

Michael leaned forward and caught her full, lower lip between his teeth; he released it slowly, delicately scraping his teeth on the sensitive flesh. 

"Not for me," he murmured. Nikita felt a full body flush swarm over her skin. 

Nikita snaked an arm around Michael's lean waist, working her hand into the front pocket of his leather pants. "In that case, your pants aren't too tight for _me_." Nikita scraped her fingernails on his thigh through the fabric of his pocket. 

A low sound rumbled up from Michael's chest, and he hooked his arm around her waist tightly. Nikita had to stop herself from purring in pleasure as his callused thumb rubbed up and down her side under her jacket, his touch dangerously warm through her silk shirt. 

Again, the bouncer stepped aside when they approached the door. The couple before him obviously had their attentions fixed elsewhere, and he had the suspicion that he wouldn't like to find out how they would react were he to send them to the back of the line. Michael and Nikita didn't break apart as they walked through the club; the crowd seemed to melt before their sensual onslaught, giving way to superior animals stalking through the club's hunting grounds. 

Michael and Nikita headed unerringly towards the booth that housed Lucas; unlike many couples, they flowed liquidly together. Their hips didn't bump, feet didn't tangle. Their bodies seemed melded together, swaying slightly with each smooth, forward step. When Lucas looked up from his rapid-fire conversation on his cellular, his jaw locked momentarily. 

He wasn't sure how they managed it, sliding into the booth still joined together. The two didn't break their holds, but simply sat with the same grace in which they walked. Lucas quickly broke off the conversation and flipped his cellular closed. He tucked it into the back pocket of his garishly striped satin pants. Purple and lime green. His black silk shirt was open to the waist, revealing a bony, if toned, chest covered with beaded necklaces. 

"You two give new meaning to, 'joined at the hip,'" Lucas remarked, grinning. 

************ 

If Lucas expected a verbal answer to his comment, he didn't receive one. Michael regarded him with such a complete lack of expression that Lucas turned his hopeful gaze to Nikita. She was giving him a sidelong stare, a curtain of hair obscuring one eye. Suddenly, she flashed him a toothy grin. Lucas shifted in his seat, switching his gaze from face to face. The heat the couple had generated upon walking into the club still seemed to swarm between them, but Lucas' gut clenched at their united stares. 

Cold. Frigid. Absolute zero. Downright _spooky_. 

But if he were to stick his fingers between them, their sensual energy would crisp his skin right before one of them took his hand off with a snarl. There was no hope in playing the two off each other. 

Lucas suddenly felt helplessly, hopelessly out of his league. 

"Ahem," he choked, attempting to clear his throat. "Uh, I just got confirmation on Sants. Wh-what did you two, ah, use?" 

"We suggest you read our contract," Michael said. The muscles on his angular face didn't so much as twitch as he succinctly delivered the sentence. 

Beads of sweat were forming fast and furious at Lucas' temples; the silk under his arms and down his sides clung damply to his skin. Michael's softly accented, low voice was the most obliquely threatening thing Lucas had ever encountered. 

Not _re-read_. Just read. Indicating he somehow knew Lucas hadn't already read the contract, and insinuating it would be good for his health to do so. 

"We have a clause which states that we don't have to reveal our methods," Nikita drawled. She leaned into Michael and rested her chin on his shoulder, staring Lucas down with her impenetrable blue eyes. 

"What, is it a I-can-tell-you-but-then-I'd-have-to-kill-you kind of thing?" Lucas joked, his chuckle forced and tone too high. His thoughts were buzzing around his head, like swarming mosquitoes. What, these two didn't need to _blink_ , for crying out loud? Next thing you know, they'll be telling me they don't need to eat... 

"That's an addendum to the clause, yes," Nikita said helpfully, voice distorted by talking with her chin pressed on Michael's muscular shoulder. Michael brushed his cheekbone over the top of Nikita's head. The move didn't make him seem vulnerable; it was more like a jungle cat marking his territory. 

Lucas had to struggle not to piss in his pants. 

"What?" Lucas yelped, noticing Michael's expression had changed into something resembling irritation. 

"We would like to discuss payment," Michael said. The way in which he said it caused Lucas to realize he had made Michael repeat himself. Something he was relatively sure the man did _not_ like to do. 

_Sh*t!_ And there was that _we_ again. What, were they incapable of using the pronoun, 'I'? 

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you want," Lucas murmured vaguely, rummaging for his bag. He pulled out a PDA and Nikita supplied him with the numbers. "Yeah, payment in full," Lucas blurted, waiting for confirmation after typing in the digits. 

Just then, Michael's cellular rang. He detached himself from Nikita and agilely stood up, moving out of vocal range of the booth. Lucas gave Nikita a optimistic smile, hoping she would be easier on his nerves when parted from her husband. 

"So, uh, what do you do?" Lucas asked, hastily adding, "I mean, aside from your partnership." 

Nikita's face was turned towards Lucas, but her eyes were tracking Michael as she spoke. "Actually, I'm working on my brownie recipe." She punctuated the statement by turning her gaze on him and again giving him that toothy grin. Humorless, not reaching her eyes. 

"B-brownies?" Lucas choked. He swung his stare back and forth between Michael's broad back and Nikita's disconcerting smile. "My mother used to add chocolate chips," Lucas said faintly. 

"Chocolate chips?" Nikita exclaimed. Her expression flickered, like the end of a tape reel in an old-style projector. Delight warred with coldness, resulting in a bizarre mixture of both that set Lucas' toes curling. 

His PDA beeped as Michael rejoined them, his tall figure looming over the booth. "Uh, transfer went through." 

Michael held out his hand and drew Nikita up from the booth. "We'll be in touch." 

Linking their arms around their waists, Michael and Nikita left the club with an unhurried gait. She waited until they reached the parking lot to spring her question. 

"Were you called in?" 

"Yes. Briefing's in two hours." 

Nikita halted and tilted her chin up. "And what about me?" 

************ 

Michael had packed swiftly and given her a knee-knocking, sensual kiss good-bye. His rough-velvet tongue had plunged between her lips, hungrily lapping against the smooth walls of her mouth. The kiss had sucked her breath away, stealing any words of farewell. He had left her, nerves tingling, lips red and slightly parted, and walked out the door without a backward glance. Nikita watched the lights of his car pull out of the driveway in silence, leaning her head against the door jamb. 

She wanted to go with him desperately, and at the same time, she didn't. Being excused from a mission because she had to maintain their cover was just _fine_ in her book, but Nikita had settled perhaps _too_ firmly into her role as Michael's wife. She didn't want to leave his side, not for any reason. 

What was the mission? When would he return? _Would_ he return? 

Nikita shook her head free of these questions and climbed the stairs to their bedroom. She wearily divested herself of the club-going clothes and climbed into bed. 

Damn the camera, she thought. Martin Nelson's seen plenty of me, already. 

Nikita slipped into the covers and moved over to Michael's side of the bed, snuggling into the blankets that still held the faint musky scent of his skin. She breathed deep of his smell and, without thinking, wrapped herself around the pillow. 

"This is a piss-poor Michael substitute," she murmured gruffly into the pillow. She giggled a little hysterically, realizing she was comparing Michael to a _pillow_ , when she had yet to meet a real, live man who even came close to her former mentor. Nikita clamped her eyelids shut and willed herself to sleep. 

As with all things similar to the watched kettle that never boils, Nikita found herself increasingly more awake with each passing second-hand click of the clock on the wall. She hugged to pillow closer and tried not to think of Michael, but each slight adjustment of her body to conform to the bed brought wafts of his scent to her hyperactive olfactory senses. 

Oh, this is great, Nikita thought. I'm worried, h*rny, and PMS-ing. And _alone_. 

Nikita sat up and wiggled up to the headboard, clutching the pillow to her chest. "As long as I'm awake," she said out loud to the empty room. "I might as well do something constructive." 

It was in this frame of mind that Nikita planned her self-defense lesson for the coming Monday. 

************ 

Nikita awoke that Monday with a fierce grin on her lips. She dressed with care, her black spandex exercise clothes closely mirroring her wicked mood. Nikita forced herself to drive carefully to the YWCA. It wouldn't be good if she were stopped for speeding and reckless driving; she might be tempted to flip the cop off and damn the consequences. 

Nikita strode, loose-limbed and feral, into the YWCA and navigated her way to the room number Tracy had given her. The floor was covered by a thick mat, with chairs and a table at one end. At the other end was a heavy bag and pads. 

Since she was early, Nikita decided to loosen up her muscles. She stretched and went through a few breathing exercises, centering herself and feeling more one with her body. That done, Nikita eyed the heavy bag with unconcealed interest. She prowled to the bag and gave it an exploratory jab with her fist. Pleased by the bag's steadiness and firmness, Nikita attacked the weight with a series of punches and kicks. Envisioning it as Amy, Nikita backed off and gave the bag a high kick that sent it swaying. A small sound made her turn. 

Tracy, Lydia, and about ten other women were gathered just outside the door. They were staring at Nikita with a mixture of awe and fear. Tracy shook her head and broke away from the group, walking towards Nikita. 

"Where did you learn how to do _that_?" she demanded, an incredulous smile on her face. 

"Catholic school," Nikita replied easily, brushing her hand back through her disheveled hair. "If you think _I'm_ good, you should have seen those _nuns_." 

The group at the door tittered and began spilling into the room, the tension broken. The last person to enter was Amy Muldoon, dressed in fashionable workout clothes that probably cost as much as Nikita's CD collection. 

"Amy," Nikita called gaily. "I'm so glad you could make it." 

Amy gave her a tense wave, attempting unsuccessfully to hide behind a small group of chattering women. 

"All right, everybody. Why don't we get started?" Nikita announced. The women slowly sorted themselves, sitting down in a semi-circle on the mat. "My name is Nikita. I was asked to be a guest teacher." 

Nikita sat down cross-legged and smiled. "I should warn you, though, I'm not a licensed professional. Should I ask everyone to sign a waiver?" Her question was met with good-natured protests. "Well, I'm not going to teach you any of the moves I was doing before you came in," Nikita continued, waving at the heavy bag. "I'm going to concentrate on what you should do when you're attacked, most likely by someone who is bigger _and_ stronger than you. Someone who might have a weapon." 

Nikita stood up and moved to the center of the mat. "I'll need a volunteer." Some women giggled and cast their eyes down, shoving at their neighbor to stand up. "Amy, why don't you get up and help me? You, most of all, need to learn how to defend yourself." 

"Oh, I don't think --" 

Amy's protests were cut off by the enthusiastic group. Nikita simply grinned and waited for Amy to join her in the center of the mat. Amy Muldoon reluctantly stood up and moved near Nikita, leaving several feet of space between them. 

"The first move I'm going to show you is..." 

************ 

Amy Muldoon gasped as Nikita flipped her to the mat again. The fall had knocked the wind out of her; Nikita graciously helped Amy to her feet. The older woman rubbed at her back and shot Nikita a mulish expression. 

Nikita grinned and turned to the group. "And that's how you can throw someone over your shoulder. If you're not careful, you can wrench a muscle." 

Nikita continued with another move, demonstrating on Amy how to stomp on an attacker's instep, how to aim for the solar plexus, how to grasp the pinkie fingers and pull outward. 

Nikita had been basically beating up on Amy Muldoon for the last forty-five minutes. Gleefully. Obdurately. Yet, careful not to cause any lasting damage. Amy rubbed her bottom and struggled to her feet. Nikita saw that she was ready to rebel, and quickly called an end to class. 

"Thanks, Nikita. I really felt like I learned something!" Lydia exclaimed, fairly bouncing out of the room. The others began drifting out, drawn towards gossip and the parking lot. 

"Amy! I'd like to talk with you for a second," Nikita said, coming up behind her. Nikita rested her hand on Amy's shoulder with what appeared to be a friendly grip. 

"Wh-what do you want?" Amy blurted, trying to back away. 

"You didn't enjoy the last hour, did you?" Nikita asked, tugging Amy forward. Her dangerously low voice belied the grin still plastered on her face. 

"You used me on purpose," Amy whined, trying to wrench Nikita's strong grip from her shoulder. 

"Yeah," Nikita breathed, closing in on her prey. "And I'll tell you why." 

Amy's eyes widened in terror and Nikita pulled her in close enough so that her breath ruffled the loose hair around Amy's face. 

"You're after my husband," Nikita said. Then, seeing Amy shaking her head, Nikita's voice growled out, "Don't try to deny it. Guess what, Amy? You don't get to have him. He doesn't _want_ you." 

"He --" 

"Shut up," Nikita hissed, fingers tightening on Amy's shoulder. She would probably leave five, fingertip-shaped bruises on the barracuda's skin before she was done. Among other injuries. "If you touch him _again_...if you so much as _flutter_ your eyelashes in Michael's general direction...so help me, I'll work you over so bad you'll be in traction for six months sucking pureed carrots from a f---ing straw." 

Amy whimpered softly, her eyes widening in fear. Her jaw worked, but no words came out. 

"Do you understand?" Nikita asked softly, her fingers clenching around the fabric of her expensive workout clothes. 

She nodded convulsively. Once. 

Nikita flashed her the same toothy grin that had brought Lucas such a bad case of nerves. It didn't fail her now. Amy scuttled backwards when Nikita loosened her grip and practically ran to the parking lot. 

************ 

That evening, Tracy and Lydia gathered around Nikita's kitchen table and helped her soak up the remains of the alcohol from the dinner party. 

"It was all I could do to keep from laughing," Lydia howled, banging her half-full glass on the table. 

"The last time you threw her onto the mat, I thought all the silicone in her body would jiggle loose!" Tracy snickered, taking a gulp of scotch. "I hope she doesn't send you the bill from her plastic surgeon when she gets it all tucked back into place!" 

Nikita smiled demurely and sipped at her drink. "I thought it went rather well." 

"Well? I'll bet she won't be able to get out of bed tomorrow!" Lydia said, leaning precariously in her chair. 

"I know Amy was eyeing Michael, but what did she _do_ to get you so angry?" Tracy asked, her bright eyes inquisitive. 

Nikita sighed and fortified herself with another sip of Dutch courage. "After the party Saturday night, Amy asked Michael to walk her home." 

"Oh, no," Tracy gasped, a dismayed frown spreading on her face. 

"She jumped him," Nikita confirmed. "Michael said he handled it, but --" 

Nikita sighed and leaned back in her chair. Jealously hadn't motivated her to "teach" Amy a lesson; it was infinitely more complicated than that. She _wasn't_ jealous of the bottle-blonde, man-hunting Amy Muldoon. She hated her for what she did to Michael. 

Nikita swallowed some more alcohol. She couldn't explain her motivation to her friends; besides blowing her cover, Nikita doubted they would be able to understand. Michael had been subject to so many Valentine missions, to the pawing of women he didn't desire. He had been objectified to the very last cell of his body... 

Amy had done the same thing, albeit on a lesser level. But still, the objectification of Michael was there. _That_ was why Nikita despised the woman. _Not_ because she saw her as a threat. And _not_ because she thought Michael desired her. 

"I'm not jealous of her," Nikita said finally. "I just don't want her to think she can grope my husband and get away with it." 

"I would have ripped her hair out by its dyed roots," Lydia insisted after a moment, doubtless thinking of her own husband. "The slut." 

Lydia's comment touched off a gale of giggles from Nikita and Tracy, and they clumsily filled each others' glasses to the brim. 

"To Nikita," Lydia said, raising her cup. "For teaching Amy not to wear an outfit two sizes too small and two times too expensive when she's about to get her a-- kicked!" 

"To Nikita," Tracy repeated. "For rearranging the silicone slut and keeping her away from other people's husbands!" 

Nikita laughed and drank to their toast. "Oh! I almost forgot! Do either of you want a brownie? Someone gave me a new recipe to try..." 

************ 

It took almost a whole day for Nikita to recover from her foray into _brownies_. She didn't call Tracy or Lydia to see how they fared, but obviously one of the ingredients had reacted badly with the copious amount of alcohol in her stomach. Even worse, on Wednesday Nikita was called into Section for a discussion with Madeline. Grateful to the cool weather, for once, Nikita donned a turtleneck to cover the fading marks Michael's passion had made. While her skin wasn't necessarily _delicate_ , it was fair and practically showcased the various bites and abrasions and beard burn... 

Nikita tried to shake her head clear of the images which were crowding her brain. Michael kissing his way up her abdomen, his mouth closing over her breast...straining against her, his damp curls caressing her cheek... 

_Stop_ , Nikita shouted to herself. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. _Stop it._

To say that Madeline was highly observant would be a phenomenal understatement; Madeline would notice if Nikita entered with flushed skin, rosy lips, and glassy eyes. What conclusions the enigmatic woman might draw, Nikita wasn't sure she wanted to know. 

Nikita entered Section and quickly strode through its halls. She intentionally passed by Michael's office before stopping at Walter's work station. The office was dark. He wasn't there. 

"Hey, Walter," Nikita called, sidling up to the counter. Walter looked up, peering over the magnifying glasses perched on his nose. 

"Hi, Sugar," Walter rasped. "Here to see Madeline?" 

"Yeah," Nikita sighed, propping her chin on her hand. "Know anything?" 

"No," Walter said, turning back to his soldering. He paused and gave her a sidelong glance. "Michael was called in on a Priority 8. Don't know when he'll be back." 

Nikita's stomach quivered at the information, simultaneously lifting the worry of the unknown and replacing it with a very real fear. Her heart surged with gratitude that Walter had anticipated her question; a question she probably wouldn't have asked for fear of the repercussions. 

Damn surveillance, Nikita thought to herself. 

Out loud, Nikita smiled and said, "Thanks, Walter. You're one in a million." 

Walter grunted and waved her away, barely managing to conceal his smile under a gruff exterior. Nikita danced away from his counter and left munitions, steeling herself for her appointment with Madeline. As usual, she had a few suspicions on what the topic of conversation was going to be...but Madeline was anything if predictable. 

Predictable in her unpredictability? Nikita thought. Never mind. Concentrate. 

"Good morning, Nikita," Madeline said as Nikita carefully made her way down the steps. 

"Madeline." 

Her brown hair curling softly around her face, Madeline politely waited until Nikita seated herself to continue the conversation. "I've looked over your profile." 

Nikita nodded in comprehension. "For the breaking and entering to provoke a Neighborhood Watch meeting." 

"Yes." 

"What did you think of it?" Nikita said. 

Madeline paused and folded her hands on the desk. "I found your profile sound and...quite inventive. We'll proceed as is." 

Nikita blinked, trying to draw in an imperceptible deep breath from her surprise. "All right." 

"I'm pleased with Michael's reports of your progress. You both seem to have integrated well into the neighborhood. Your and Michael's association with Lucas appears to be ingratiating you with members of Red Fist. I hear they were quite satisfied with your performance on the Sants mission." 

"Yes, well...Michael and I...seem to intimidate Lucas," Nikita said. "It sways his opinion in our favor." 

Madeline gave her one of those infamously misleading smiles. The skin crinkled around her eyes, and the older woman managed to _genuinely_ appear amused. The smile faded slowly, as she inclined her upper body forward a fraction of an inch. "Another thing, Nikita. Are you and Michael practicing safe sex?" 

************ 

"Wh-what?" Nikita stuttered. 

No. _No_. Madeline _couldn't_ have just asked her that question. Right? Madeline hadn't just asked if she and Michael were having _safe sex_...sort of like a mother asking her daughter if she was on birth control pills. 

Wrong. _Very_ wrong. 

"Are you and Michael using condoms?" Madeline inquired again, her mellifluous voice downplaying the words. She might as well be asking if she and Michael liked basil better than oregano in their spaghetti sauce. 

Nikita frantically scrambled for an answer. What should she say? Why did Madeline want to know? Thoughts crawled in and out of Nikita's mind for the second it took for her to formulate an answer. 

"No," she said. Then, "Should we be?" 

Might as well tell the truth. What else could she do? Say, _Gee, Madeline, I was too busy jumping his bones to worry about using protection?_

Nikita caught her lower lip as she thought about Madeline's question. It occurred to her that, considering her and Michael's pasts, it was monumentally _stupid_ that they hadn't been using _some_ form of protection. 

I guess I'm so used to Michael looking out for me that I didn't even question it, Nikita thought to herself. With Michael, I have blinders on. No, not blinders. A _blindfold_. Oh, damn, shoot me _now_ and put me out of my stupidity. 

"Good," Madeline said. She sat back in her chair, seeming pleased. 

_Pleased?_ What? Nikita ceased her bemoaning and fixed her gaze on Madeline's face. 

"It is essential that you appear to be husband and wife. A married couple should _not_ be using prophylactics," Madeline continued. "Section has a birth control policy in place for you, Nikita...and all our operatives go through regular medical screenings. Neither you...or Michael...are in any danger." 

Nikita cleared her throat and nodded. She realized she was still gnawing on her bottom lip and halted the nervous giveaway. "Good," she said. She couldn't think of any other response. 

Madeline gave her a smile of dismissal. "That will be all, Nikita." 

Nikita struggled to her feet and gawkily walked to the door of Madeline's pristine office. Waiting for a parting comment from Madeline that never came, Nikita stepped out the door and took a deep breath as the door swished shut behind her. Nikita clamped down on her jangling nerves and residual dizziness and made her way out of Section. She practically ran by Walter's station without a comment. 

"How was it?" he called. 

Nikita halted in her tracks and turned her dazed expression on the gray-haired munitions expert. "Don't ask," she rasped. 

"That bad?" he said sympathetically, starting to move around his work station. 

Nikita shook her head and started walking again. "You don't want to know, Walter. You _really_ don't want to know." 

"Oh, I think I do, Sugar," Walter contradicted, leer in place. 

"Okay, _I_ really don't want you to know," she shot over her shoulder. 

************ 

Sex. That's all they wanted to talk about. 

How am I going to get my mind out of the gutter like this? Nikita thought. 

She sat at Tracy's kitchen table with Lydia, Lisa, and Tracy's fifteen-year-old daughter, Kara. Lydia and Kara were giggling over a _Cosmo_ magazine. 

"Shoo! Go away! It's a girls only party," Tracy was saying to her husband. "Take Tim with you to the den and watch football, or something." 

George winked at her and started to drag his son into the den. " _Women!_ They're going to drink all of my beer. And you know, son, there's nothing I can do about it..." 

Nikita smiled wanly at Lisa, who was surprisingly sweet and talkative when her bully of a husband was out of town. Nikita leaned forward and wrinkled her nose. "Does anyone actually _read_ those things?" 

Lisa let out a tinkling laugh. "Of course! I read them for years through junior high and high school. Didn't you?" 

Nikita coughed politely and curved her lips. "I...ah...had an unorthodox upbringing," she said tactfully. 

Lisa's eyebrows lifted and she opened her mouth, ostensibly to question Nikita further about her youth. Fortuitously, Kara let out a high squeal of delight. The teenager pushed her bobbed hair behind her pierced ears and directed a wicked grin to the table at large. 

"Here's an article I just _have_ to read," she said. "It's called, _Are You Meeting Your Sexual Quota?_...it's right after the column on achieving incredible orgasms or whatever." 

Nikita's lips quirked as she remembered Madeline instructing her during the Armel mission. While Nikita was fairly sure Madeline's assessment had been based in fact, she decided to test the waters. "I read somewhere that the average couple who've been married under five years have intimate relations at least twice a week." 

Kara laughed in her face. "Intimate relations? Where'd you read _that_ , in _Redbook_?" 

Tracy finally made her way back to the table with a bowl full of tortilla chips, salsa, and another six-pack of beer. "Kara, _I_ read _Redbook_." 

"That's my point, mom," Kara snickered, ducking her mother's teasing swat. "Okay, here we go." Kara began reading the article out loud, melodramatically pronouncing the trendy buzz words with the disdain of a trendy young person. She swallowed giggles and kept reading when her mother poked her in the ribs and tried to wrestle the magazine from her be-ringed fingers. 

Suddenly, her commentary stopped and she grinned at Nikita over the top of the glossy magazine. "Hey, Nikita! From the survey, it looks like you're right! The average couple has _sex_ at least twice a week if they've been together under five years." 

Forgoing comment, Nikita simply shrugged and popped the tab on another beer. She took a swig of the thin, acidic stuff. She had a feeling that, before the night was over, she was going to need it. 

************ 

"Okay, everybody, time to spill," Lydia said, a wicked grin creasing her alcohol-brightened cheeks. "How often do you do it?" 

Lisa and Kara turned bright red. Tracy guffawed. Nikita ran her tongue over her teeth, trying to scrunch down in her chair. 

"You first," Tracy gasped. "You brought it up." 

"Okay. Dan and I have sex three or four times a week," Lydia stated. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth. "I can't believe I just told you that!" 

Lisa coughed and her cheeks reddened even more. "I know Mark's hard to get along with, but he's really sweet when he's not around other people. We're about the same." She ducked her head and giggled, leaning into Lydia's shoulder. 

Tracy clapped her hands over her daughter's ears. "A couple of times a month," she whispered over Kara's head. "That's what happens when you hit middle age and get comfortable with each other." 

Kara fought her mother's hands away. "Mom! I'm old enough to hear!" 

Tracy smiled and shook her head. "No, you're not!" 

Four grinning faces turned to Nikita, still scrunched down in her chair. "Your turn," Lydia sang out. 

************ 

Michael sighed deeply as he stepped out of the car, slowly pulling his briefcase and suitcase from the passenger side. He knew without looking that Nikita wasn't home. The house always vibrated with her lively presence when she was inside. Michael unlocked the front door and entered the darkened house. His keys clanked on the counter as he walked into the kitchen. Loosening his tie, Michael spotted Nikita's note on the refrigerator. 

_"At Tracy's. Love, N."_

Michael pulled his tie from his collar with a soft whisper of silk and tossed it on the counter next to his keys. A faint smile curved his lips and he walked to the back door, unbuttoning his dress shirt with one hand. She had been thinking of him. The cool air caressed his tired skin as he stepped outside, closing the door softly behind him. 

The grass swished under Michael's feet as he crossed the yard, skirting the low hedge. He kept out of sight of the sliding glass door, ears tuned to the sounds of laughter. Using his Section training, Michael peered inside the glass door, unseen; his eyes caught and held the svelte line of Nikita's back. He didn't want to break up their party, but Michael's desire to be near Nikita drove him to slide the door open. 

"At least twice a night," she was saying reluctantly. Instantly, her back straightened and she turned around in her chair, eyes crawling up his body. 

All conversation stopped as the women at the table followed her gaze, then everyone but Nikita burst into giggles. 

************ 

Michael smoothly stepped inside the door, his eyes locked with Nikita's as he advanced to the kitchen table. His warm palm slid onto her shoulder and he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her upturned lips. 

"Ni-ki-ta," he breathed in greeting, accent thick from weariness. Michael's hand slid to cup her neck, her pulse fluttering beneath his fingers. He raised his head and gave the assembled women a slight smile. "Bon soir," Michael said, raising his voice to address them over the Sarah McLachlan CD playing in the background. They avoided his gaze, smothering their laughter with their hands. Michael's eyes took in the scene; the alcohol, the magazine, the red faces. His fingers idly combed through Nikita's hair as he turned back to her and smiled into her eyes. "Speak of the devil?" 

His words sparked another round of smothered laughter and flushed faces. His accent had turned the innocuous phrase into a sultry, spine-tingling caress. 

"Nikita, how do you _deal_ with having such an observant husband?" Tracy demanded after a moment, smiling up at Michael. 

Nikita dragged her eyes from his silver-green eyes, his slightly disheveled cinnamon hair. She wanted to take his face between her palms and soothe away the tired lines, to show him how much joy she felt at the return of his quietly strong presence. "How do I deal with Michael?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow at Tracy. Inadvertently, her gaze swung back up Michael's form-fitting white shirt as she said, "Very carefully." 

Nikita stood up and began to hunt for her jacket in living room, leaving Michael alone with her friends. Michael stepped closer to the table and leaned across its littered expanse to murmur in Tracy's ear. 

"You were lying when you said only twice a month." 

Tracy jerked her eyes up and stared at Michael, her lips parting in surprise. His lips twitched, indicating that he had unintentionally eavesdropped on an embarrassing conversation. 

"How-how--" Tracy stuttered, at a loss for words. Michael held her gaze for another moment, flashing her a wink as Nikita re-entered the room. Tracy grinned up at Nikita's husband and squeezed his shoulder, leaning forward to whisper through his curly hair. "You're right, Michael. We're practically rabbits." 

Nikita came up behind Michael and arched an eyebrow as he pulled back. She tugged him closer by his belt buckle. "Flirting with my friends?" 

Michael didn't answer. He simply raised his hand and ran his callused thumb along the length of her eyebrow. As soon as the pad of his thumb left her skin, Nikita spun him around by the shoulders and began pushing him to the sliding glass doors. 

"If you'll all excuse us," Nikita said over her shoulder. 

************ 

They didn't speak as they crossed the lawn, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. They seemed to communicate with each other, through layers of clothing and skin, a feeling of satisfaction. Every step brought Michael and Nikita closer to home. 

They flowed inside the back door, remaining connected at the hips. Nikita kicked the door closed with her heel with a loud bang, followed by another loud noise as Michael roughly backed her into the door. His hot mouth descended upon hers, his tongue slipping between her parted lips. Michael's length pressed against her held her upright as Nikita's knees liquefied. The slick, velvet interior of his mouth pounded her pulse; the erotic tang of his lips and musky scent of his skin drove her to slip her hands up his sides and around the strong column of his neck. Nikita moaned into his mouth as Michael deepened the kiss, gently rocking her hips forward so that their bodies melded together into a seamless whole. 

A heavy, aching wetness spread to her groin and tingled her nerve ends under the clothes she wore. Nikita arched against Michael mindlessly, consumed by his presence, his muscled body, his scent she remembered so well... 

And then, it happened. 

Madeline's voice rang through her brain like a pistol fired too close to her ear. _"Are you and Michael practicing safe sex?"_

Conscience, I hate you! Nikita groaned to herself. 

Her passion for Michael beat out a desperate rhythm, but Nikita forced herself to confront the issue that had occupied a dominant space in her mind for the past few days. Immediately sensing the shift in her mood, Michael stopped his devastating assault on her neck and lifted his head. 

"Nikita?" 

His changeable green eyes were staring directly into her face, examining her features in minute detail while his aroused body was still pressed to hers. Nikita blinked and shifted her gaze, belatedly realizing she was employing one of Michael's own tactics that so irritated her. Reluctantly, Nikita lifted her gaze back to his face and let him disentangle their still tingling limbs. Avoiding his lush, coral-colored mouth, Nikita tried to focus on Michael's high cheekbone as she gathered her thoughts. 

"We need to talk," she said finally, wincing when she realized what a hated expression had escaped her lips. 

We need to talk, she repeated to herself silently. It sounds like I'm about to start the, "I just want to be friends" speech. 

"I had a chat with Madeline while you were gone," she added, slumping against the door as Michael completely disengaged himself from her and ever-so-slightly cocked his head. 

"What did Madeline say to you?" he asked quietly, backing up another step to give Nikita space to breathe. 

Nikita gulped. "Can we sit?" Without waiting for his answer, Nikita slid down the door and sat on the kitchen floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. Michael loomed above her for a fraction of a second, then lowered himself to his haunches. When Nikita didn't speak right away, Michael propped his elbows on his knees and crossed his powerful forearms. 

"During our meeting, Madeline asked me if you and I were using protection when we-" 

At Nikita's waffling, Michael quietly said, "Make love?" 

Her pupils dilated and a light flush rose along her cheekbones. His voice was doing unspeakable things to her still-aroused senses. She clamped down on her rampant urge to forget she ever talked with Madeline and just pull Michael up to their bedroom. Instead, Nikita swallowed visibly and nodded. 

"Yes, when we make love. When I told her that we hadn't been, she was pleased. Why?" 

Michael sighed and rocked back on his heels, eyes turning inward in thought. "Married couples who have no obvious reason for not wanting children should not use protection," he said evenly. He reached out his left hand and brushed his thumb over her eyebrow. "What's wrong, Nikita?" 

************ 

"Should we be using condoms, Michael?" Nikita blurted finally, opening her eyes again. Her eyelids had fluttered shut of their own volition when Michael's callused thumb had landed on her skin. "I mean, when you think about both of our sexual histories--" 

"Nikita," he interrupted softly. 

"What?" 

He stared at her a moment, eyes searching her face. "Nikita, I don't think we're in any real danger." He paused a moment, blinking, before he continued. "Valentine missions aren't as dangerous as you're led to believe. The targets are carefully screened." Michael dropped his hand and gave an imperceptible sigh as he struggled to communicate to her. "Valentine Operatives are...difficult to train. They aren't as...replaceable as Cold Operatives." 

"I'm not just talking about _you_ , Michael. I haven't exactly been a saint, either," Nikita said, hugging her knees closer to her chest. 

Something flared in his eyes briefly, before Michael clamped down on whatever emotion it had been. His muscles rippled into a cold mask. "Were you planning on longevity, Nikita?" 

Nikita's spine stiffened in anger at his sharp tone, his blank stare. 

I thought we were past this, she thought to herself. Why is he reminding me of what it's like to live in Section, wondering if each day will be my last? 

Nikita stared back at Michael mulishly until what he had said finally sank into her brain. "Longevity?" Nikita shook her head and gave him a half-smile. "You know, I asked Madeline once what happened to Operatives when they got old. You know, a condo in Miami or a bullet to the head..." Nikita trailed off and propped her head against the door. "I don't think even _Madeline_ knows what happens, but I'm damn sure there isn't a 401K plan for me." 

Michael sighed and bowed his head. Nikita could tell his wordless answer to her question was that he didn't _know_ what happened to Operatives who lived long enough to worry about _retirement_. In his fifteen-odd years with Section, Nikita was willing to bet the situation had never arisen. No one escaped Section One, and only a handful lasted long enough to have that so reinforced as Michael. When he raised his head, Michael's eyes were a curious shade of green, with murky depths hinting at his thoughts. 

"What do you want to do, Nikita?" he asked, leaving control of the situation up to her. 

Nikita opened her mouth and closed it again when she realized she didn't have a clue. Haltingly, she said, "I suppose the damage has already been done, Michael. Every time we've...made love, we haven't used condoms. Why start now?" 

Michael raised his thumb to the soft skin of her cheek, eyes again turned inwards. "It would be safer for you if we did." 

"For _us_ ," Nikita corrected brusquely. "And you're right. It would look suspicious if we suddenly started using protection _now_ , and Madeline assured me we both have a clean bill of health." 

"Yes." 

"You checked?" Nikita blurted, covering his hand at her cheek with her own. 

Michael lips quirked humorlessly. "Of course." 

Overwhelmed by the need to touch Michael, her protector, her temporary husband and forever soul-mate, Nikita reached out and rested her hand on his bicep. When Michael flinched back, Nikita felt something inside her shrivel and curl up. She snatched her hand back as if burned, clutching at her collar, her earring, _anything_... 

************ 

Nikita felt like Michael had reached inside and shredded her very last thread of sanity when he pulled away from her touch. She wanted to scream, sob, slap his beautiful face to make him explain. Nikita wanted him to apologize, to kiss her senseless, to go, to stay...to say _something_... 

And then she realized what she had felt under the rough cotton of his shirt was too bulky to be just skin. Nikita extended her shaky fingers again and lightly brushed his bicep. Michael shifted away once more, staring at her silently. Nikita's eyes flared back to life as she tentatively explored his arm. 

"Michael," she said, her tone chiding and shaded with anger. 

Michael sighed slightly and moved again, lowering himself down from his crouch to sit on the kitchen floor in front of her. His inner thighs pressed against her outer calves, feet framing her hips. All Nikita had to do was scoot forward a few inches, lift her legs from between Michael's thighs and around his hips, and she would be flush against his heat. 

So you think you're going to distract me? Nikita thought. Not this time, Michael. 

"Take your shirt off," Nikita ordered. "I want to see." 

Michael didn't move. "Nikita," he said, ducking his head to give her his placating look. 

"Take it off, or I'm going to do it for you," Nikita replied. She reached out and began unfastening the line of buttons that extended down his chest and disappeared into the waist of his pants. Michael kept his elbows on his knees, allowing her to tug the tails of his shirt from his waist band once the front gapped open. Her fingers moved to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. That accomplished, Nikita leaned forward and eased his shirt from his shoulders. Her gaze fastened on the white bandage on his right bicep, valiantly ignoring his tank-top covered chest. 

"Oh, Michael," she said, unwrapping the bandages that were beginning to be soaked through with blood. "Is that a bullet wound?" she gasped when she removed the last of the bandages. The long, jagged lips of the wound were red and oozing a worrisome amount of blood. 

Michael tilted his head and regarded his wound impassively. "Yes." 

"Shouldn't you have stitches?" Nikita demanded, jutting out her chin. 

"I'll be fine, Nikita." 

She bit her lip and gave him an evaluating stare. "Will you at least let me play doctor for a little while?" 

Michael's lips twitched. "If you don't sedate me." 

Nikita fluttered her eyelashes at Michael teasingly as she stood up and began to step around him. "What, are you afraid I'll take shameless advantage of you while you're out cold?" 

Michael gave a tiny shake of his head and turned to watch her walk towards the stairs for their medical kit. "No...I'm afraid you _wouldn't._ " 

Nikita snorted as she climbed the stairs. 

Oh, _come on_ , Michael! she thought. A saint couldn't resist _you_... helpless from drugs, spread out like a buffet on a bed, the lean lines of your body exposed-- 

Nikita splashed cold water on her face before retrieving the kit and unsteadily making her way back down the stairs. 

************ 

Upon walking back into the kitchen, Nikita discovered that Michael hadn't moved from the floor. The muscled expanse of his back was to her. His tank top left a small section of his smooth skin exposed along his spine, under his cinnamon hair curling down his neck. Again, Nikita was reminded of a buffet as she set the kit down on the counter. The length of his spine, the dip under his chin, the juncture of his shoulder and neck...he had so many places she wanted to touch, to taste... 

"What happened, Michael?" Nikita asked, crossing the floor to crouch down next to him with her supplies. She caught him staring pointedly at the hypodermic she was filling. "Antibiotics. Nothing else, I promise." Nikita bit her lower lip as she tapped the needle for air bubbles, swabbed his arm, and jabbed it through his skin. 

"It was a high priority retrieval mission. The intel was faulty," Michael said as Nikita depressed the plunger and emptied the contents of the hypodermic. 

Nikita dabbed at the bead of blood that welled from the tiny puncture. "Was there closure?" 

"Yes." 

"Good. Then this is the only boo-boo. I'll kiss it and make it better," she insisted, grinning mischievously. She leaned forward and feathered her lips on his skin, careful to avoid the swollen tissues of his wound. "Mmm...I'll try that again," Nikita murmured, angling her head to lightly nip his muscled arm and shoulder with her lips. With a resigned sigh, she gave his musky skin a farewell flick of her tongue and sat back. 

"Nikita," Michael said. He reached out with his left arm and snagged her hand, bringing it up to rest over his heart on his hard chest. His heart was pounding wildly under the thin fabric of his tank-top. "Bandage me before I bleed to death," he rumbled, an eyebrow cocked in self-deprecation. If Nikita had been pleasantly aroused by his presence before that statement, her blood thundered in her veins and collected in her groin. Her nipples contracted, her eyes dilated, and she was surprised her hand resting on Michael's pectoral muscle hadn't caught fire. 

Nikita glanced down as his wound, a trickle of blood still running down his arm and dripping off his elbow into a tiny pool on the kitchen floor. She wanted to growl at it; his wound was pushing back her achievement of pleasure. 

To distract her body from his nearness, Nikita began chattering about the last few days while she flushed his wound. She told him about what she had done to Amy Muldoon while she dabbed at the jagged lips of the bullet hole with a clean cloth quickly and efficiently. Nikita didn't waver in her commentary as she squirmed around and lifted the bandages from their well-stocked, Section supplied first-aid kit. She gently lifted his arm and rested his elbow on her knee. Nikita continued babbling while she pressed a gauze pad to the hole in his arm and began winding the bandage. 

"When you came in, Michael," she said, tying off the bandage with a neat flourish, "I was --" 

"Nikita," he interrupted, his accented voice soft and compelling. Nikita glanced up from her intense focus on his bicep, fingers stilling. Her lips parted slightly at the expression in his very green eyes. "Hush." 

************ 

His sculpted lips feathered across hers. "Has anyone told you that you talk too much?" he murmured, his eyelids lowered to fix his gaze on her mouth. 

"Shut up and kiss me," Nikita breathed, slipping her fingers around the nape of his neck and pulling him forward. He hovered above her mouth for a moment more, his warm breath tickling her skin. Nikita's heart jolted as his lips finally contacted with hers, their mouths open and mating a second later. 

Too long, she thought. Four days is much too long to go without my Michael fix. 

Michael's teeth and tongue teased her senses, his heated mouth slanting across her slick lips. Nikita's hand reached up and pressed itself over his heart again, her palm kneading at the taut muscle. Deepening the kiss, Michael covered her hand with his own and began sliding it down his chest. Nikita shifted restlessly and strained closer to his hip as Michael forced her hand inexorably downward over the warm metal of his belt buckle. 

Panting, Nikita broke the kiss to groan as he pressed her hand on his arousal. She could feel his hard heat through the fabric of his pants, and she wanted _more_. 

"You should come with a warning label, Michael," she murmured, rubbing her palm over his warmth. His answering groan thrilled through her nerves. Possible warnings flitted through her mind: high heat; contents under pressure; contains volatile chemicals; do not use near open flame. Better yet, open carefully... 

Reluctantly, Nikita withdrew her hand and grabbed the medical scissors from the kit. "Hold still," she instructed. Nikita tugged Michael's tank top from the waist of his pants and began snipping the fabric up the center of his chest. When she cut through the top, the ribbed fabric shrank back and exposed the silken skin of his chest. Nikita purred low in the back of her throat and perched on her knees. She lowered her head and flicked her tongue against his chest, leaving a glistening trail as she worked her way down to his exposed navel. Nikita raised her hands again and snipped away the rest of his tank-top, turning to toss the scissors back into the kit. 

"Do you like that shirt?" Michael said suddenly. 

"My shirt?" Nikita answered, turning back with a confused set to her passion-fogged eyes. 

Michael shifted his position on the floor, spreading his legs and hauling her between them. "Do...you...like...that...shirt?" he asked again, nipping at her lips, jaw and neck in between words. 

Nikita plucked languorously at the hem. "It's just a T-shirt." 

Michael's eyes flashed dangerously. "Good." He plucked the scissors from her lax fingers and snipped the same pattern up her shirt. Nikita gasped as he protected her skin by sliding the back of his hand up her abdomen and between the valley formed by her breasts. Michael's hands parted her shirt, thumbs stroking over her breasts and tantalizing her aroused nipples. He dipped his head with a satisfied murmur, after unclasping her bra; his lips danced teasingly over her tender skin, puffing bursts of warm air sideways over her taut nipples. Nikita writhed restlessly and Michael's lips finally closed over her breast, lightly flicking with the tip of his tongue. He gently caught her nipple between his teeth and pulled away, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin as it slid from his mouth. Nikita whimpered, and he turned his attention to her other breast as she wound her fingers through his curly hair. 

" _Michael,_ " she panted, bucking restlessly against his hips. 

"Lie back," he murmured, supporting her with a hand between her shoulder blades. Nikita complied, her back coming to rest on the cool kitchen floor. Nikita briefly tried to recall the last time she had bothered to clean it, but Michael quickly wiped that thought out of her mind. He was straddling her hips on his knees and pulled her ruined T-shirt up to tangle at her wrists. Nikita arched towards him as he worked her jeans down her hips, pulling them off along with her sandals. 

She watched avidly as Michael rose, her lips parted as his beautiful hands swiftly unclasped his belt; Nikita writhed when he stepped from the confines of his pants and again turned his heated gaze upon her. He prowled down on all fours like a sleek panther, his body gliding over hers and hovering so close that Nikita could feel the tiny hairs on her body stand up in response to his crackling electricity. She arched upwards in frustration and rubbed her body on his smooth, hot skin. 

"Miss me?" he whispered in her ear, scraping his stubble along her jaw. Nikita growled and Michael finally lowered his body onto hers. Nikita reacted instantly, wrapping her legs around his waist and trapping him with her heels pressed to the backs of his thighs. 

"Shut up and take me, Michael," she ordered. 

In response, Michael kissed her roughly, his lips slanting over mouth, tongue demanding. She gasped as his lips released her, moaning when he slowly began penetrating her depths with his pulsing arousal. Nikita could feel herself stretch to accommodate his huge length. Her fingers flexed spasmodically where they were tangled in her shirt above her head. 

"Stop and you die," Nikita threatened. Michael pushed himself completely inside at her statement. Her head fell back and Nikita's eyes closed in a shivering pleasure. 

"I believe you," he whispered into her parted lips. And then he began to move. 

Michael's thrusts were slow and powerful, rocking in and out of her in sensual torture; Nikita knew the pulsing ache would burn her up from the inside out if she didn't force him to move faster. She flung off the shirt from her hands and her fingers trailed down his shoulders, clutching at his lower back when he thrust into her again. Michael's answering groan was not one of pleasure. 

Her gaze flew to his. "Bruise," he gasped, grinding against her to distract them both from the momentary pain. He dipped his head and nibbled at her lips. "Touch me somewhere else, 'Kita." 

"Yes," she murmured, moving her hands again to cup his taut buttocks. "Faster," she insisted, pulling him into her with an increasingly wild rhythm. She murmured in pleasure as he complied, pounding into her faster, twisting and grinding harder. Nikita's fingers tightened on the silky skin of his buttocks and gasped as his arousal jumped inside her. 

Michael retaliated by stroking even deeper inside, grinding hard against her clit. Once, twice...the third time Nikita's lips parted and she let out a gasping sigh. He thrust into her twice more as Nikita's muscles began spasming. Her senses swam crazily and slowed, every inch of him, everywhere their skin rubbed she felt as if she had been caught in a low power electrical field. Liquid pleasure radiating to her every nerve end. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. Nikita could only _feel_ as her orgasm raged through her, as Michael's lean length finally collapsed and pressed his delicious weight onto her humming skin. 

************ 

"'Kita?" 

Nikita's eyes tardily flew up to Michael's face. "Mmm?" 

"Are you ready?" His voice spilled into her ears and his clothing rustled as he stepped closer, an erotic torment. 

Unconsciously, Nikita licked her lips and lowered her eyelids to focus her gaze. She couldn't pull her eyes away from Michael's thighs, clad in leopard-print, skin-tight pants. Her gaze shifted upward, passing over his belt to the black knit see-through T-shirt pulled taut over his chest. The sleeves extended to his elbows, a darker shade that concealed the bandage on his bicep. Nikita stepped closer to Michael and breathed in his scent, running the tip of one finger down the soft fabric covering his hard thigh. 

"When did you get these and _why_ haven't you worn them before?" Nikita demanded, running her hand over his hip to cup his muscled rear with her palm. 

"You like?" he murmured, slipping his fingers down the neck-line of her leather mini-dress. She wasn't wearing anything underneath it except a garter belt for her stockings. They were _supposed_ to attract attention when they went out tonight to divert suspicion when they began looting homes later on in the evening. And Nikita had further justified her decision to 'go commando' in that any type of underwear would chafe her after the hours-long 'welcome home' session with Michael. 

It had started on the kitchen floor and moved to the empty kitchen sink. Nikita's fingers kneaded the taut muscle under her hand and her lips parted as she remembered. 

_Michael picked her up without a thought for his injured arm, still buried inside her after the convulsive implosion of their lovemaking. Nikita shivered as she felt the cool stainless steel under her skin._

_"Michael?" she sighed, her eyes searching for his. Green eyes gleamed back. Michael leaned forward and captured her mouth in a series of wet, nipping kisses. Nikita felt his arm reach around her. His hand closed around the sprayer; the hose made a zipping sound as Michael pulled it out. Nikita repeated his name, voice going tremulous in expectation._

_"Get ready," he murmured, reaching his other arm around her back to open the tap. She could hear the water trickling behind her, Michael testing the water temperature with his fingers. He nudged the tap over and Nikita could feel the had water grown warmer when Michael drew a wet line over the curve of her buttock with his fingers. Without further warning, he brought the spigot between their joined bodies and pressed the lever. Hot water dribbled down Nikita's abdomen and into the apex of her thighs, running down her thighs where they were wrapped around Michael's hips to drip from her knees to the kitchen floor._

Nikita's breathing grew erratic as she recalled Michael's reaction when she finally wrested the sprayer from his talented hand, after he'd teased both her breasts into oblivion. Nikita jumped as Michael's fingers touched her skin, feeling a jolt of electricity arc from his fingertips and onto her caressed cheek. A double image wavered before her a moment, of Michael with his head thrown back as she tortured him with the warm spray of water, and now as his green eyes searched her face and focused on her mouth. 

Nikita felt her nipples contract as she remembered moving finally from the sink and up against the refrigerator, pulling ice cubes from the freezer. Her chest constricted when she recalled that, after hours, they had finally left the kitchen, but hadn't made it up the stairs. The ache between her thighs began pulsing in time with her heart beat as she remembered straddling Michael, and how his thrusts had ground into her as one leg had been on a higher level than the other... 

Nikita growled under her breath as Michael turned away and shrugged on his ankle-length leather trench coat. She paced forward slowly and gave him a feral grin when he turned to face her again. 

Nikita nearly purred when his eyes widened with knowledge that she was going to attack him. 

************ 

Nikita slammed Michael against the front door and slipped her hands inside his leather trench coat. She dredged her fingers down his chest and abdomen, circling her hands around his waist to pull his hips to hers. Leather creaked as she ground against him, purring deep in her throat. Nikita slipped her tongue between his parted lips and stroked the hot, silken walls of his mouth. 

Michael captured her face with his palms and pulled her back just far enough that his warm breath caressed her face. "Nikita." 

"What?" Nikita sighed, unable to keep her hips from rocking towards his hard heat. 

"Be patient," he said, feathering a kiss over her lips. "We have reservations." He flicked his tongue over her bottom lip, followed by his callused thumb. 

"Forget the reservations," Nikita growled, hooking her stocking-clad leg around Michael's hip and rubbing against the soft fabric of his leopard-print pants. 

Michael grunted as Nikita knocked him back against the door again. His mouth descended upon hers in a punishing kiss. Nikita opened her jaw wide as Michael's lips slanted over her mouth and his tongue delved greedily inside; their tongues wrestled for dominance, sucking on each other's lips and giving soft bites with their teeth. Nikita gasped as they broke apart; the nostrils on Michael's sexy, patrician nose flared as he struggled for air. His reddened lips parted and Nikita leaned towards him for another kiss. 

"We have to follow the profile," Michael said, pulling his features into the familiar, dispassionate mask. 

"Fine. Let's go," Nikita answered, disentangling herself from him and stepping back. 

The sooner we get going, Nikita thought, the sooner I can get into those pants. 

She pulled Michael forward by the lapels of his leather trench-coat and steered him out of the way. Michael watched, bemused, as Nikita hastily pulled on her black leather jacket and flung open the door. She took one step outside and stopped in her tracks; Michael's chest hit her in the shoulder blades and his hands came up to cup her biceps. 

"What is it?" he murmured in her ear, scanning the area for hostiles. 

Nikita pressed herself back against his lean body and shivered. "I like the bike," she rasped. Michael squeezed her arms in assent. 

The motorcycle was parked in the driveway. Michael had gone that morning to pick it up, a Ducati Monster 900 City. The silver casing gleamed in the afternoon light, reflecting off the mirrors, the head lamp, the windshield. Their clothing and accessories were already stowed in the black case strapped on the side. 

Dimly, Nikita heard Michael locking the door and pocketing his keys. He took her elbow and led her down the path. Nikita licked her lips in anticipation. Although the bike was built for two, their luggage and the exhaust casing was going to force her to practically plaster herself to Michael's back for the ride. On a Harley, she would have been able to lean back and put some distance between their bodies. Not on a Ducati. 

I hope he knows what he's in for, Nikita thought, watching Michael swing one muscled leg over the saddle. He revved the engine and pushed up the kick stand with a booted foot. Nikita shuddered as he slipped a pair of dark sunglasses on his face and looked at her expectantly. He looked dark, dangerous, and very, very sexy. 

"And he's all mine, too," Nikita murmured to herself. Her comment was swallowed by the noise of the motorcycle engine and she moved forward. Nikita swung her leg over the bike and nestled close to Michael, even more grateful that she had chosen to 'go commando' than before. She caught Michael staring over his shoulder in appreciation as her leather skirt rode up to show the tops of her stockings. Wickedly, Nikita writhed against his taut rear and pulled the hem down, wedging her thighs around his and conforming her body to his muscled back. She re-arranged the tail of his trench coat for maximum contact, sliding her hands around his waist and spreading her palms low on his ridged abdomen. 

Michael pulled out of the driveway and Nikita rested her cheek on his back, drawing in the delicious scent of male and leather. The motor vibrated between her legs as Michael skillfully maneuvered the bike, his wind-blown curls brushing her forehead. 

************ 

When they arrived at the hotel on the other side of the city, Nikita was so painfully aroused she had trouble struggling off the motorcycle; she didn't even bother to care if she had inadvertently flashed someone in the chilly parking garage. Her fingers had sought and found that Michael was not unaffected by the sensual ride, their bodies rubbing and vibrating together on the back of the Ducati. Nikita's legs felt as unsteady as tapioca pudding on her spike heels watching Michael swing one muscled thigh over the bike. His trench coat hissed over the bike's saddle as he stood up and rolled his shoulders free of knots. His curls were wind tangled and spilled over his forehead; one cinnamon lock of hair curled over his dark sunglasses. It was endearing, but the rest of his hard, dangerous body belied the hint of boyishness. 

Belatedly, Nikita attempted to smooth back her ratted hair, her wind-blown locks framing her face like a lion's mane. Michael's black gloved hand reached out and closed around her wrist. 

"Don't," he whispered into her ear, leaning so close that his coat squeaked against her leather dress. "I like it this way." 

Galvanized, Nikita snatched their bag, threaded her fingers through his and began dragging Michael to the hotel entrance. "Come, Monsieur Christophe. Our room is waiting," she drawled over her shoulder. 

Michael caught up with her and their strides fell into sync without any conscious attempt to do so. His billowing trench coat brushed against her stocking-clad calves. They prowled into the brightly lit hotel lobby. A well-dressed matron stopped in her tracks and pressed her hand to her heart, jaw dropping in shock. All conversation from the small groups sitting on the leather couches stopped as Nikita's heels clicked by, Michael striding silently beside her but for the whisper of leather. Hushed comments renewed as she and Michael approached the front desk 

"We have a reservation," Michael said. Nikita shivered and slid her arm around his waist at his thickened accent. 

The clerk cleared his throat and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing over his striped tie as he tried not to ogle Nikita in her form-fitting leather mini. "For whom?" he choked. 

"Monsieur et Madame Christophe," Michael replied. Nikita's hand began caressing his ridged abdomen of its own volition. 

She chuckled silently. If we don't get our room _soon_ , the people in this lobby are going to fully understand what it means to get my Michael fix. 

"Ah, yes, the Honeymoon Suite," the clerk reported, his eyes flicking at Nikita with hungry disappointment. He glanced over Michael's identification and handed him the envelope with the key card. "I hope you enjoy your stay." 

"Oh, we will," Nikita purred, pulling Michael toward the bank of elevators. She winked at the young clerk, and an embarrassed flush spread above his white collar. While they waited for a descending elevator, the shocked matron made a bee-line to the counter and gave the poor clerk an acrimonious glare. 

"What kind of clientele is this hotel catering to?" she sniffed. "Surely you aren't renting rooms by the hour!" 

The hotel manager walked up and placed his hand on the clerk's shoulder. "Excuse me, Mrs. Maxwell, but Monsieur and Madame Christophe are valued guests. He is a prestigious art dealer and his wife is an international model." 

The elevator doors opened with a ding and Michael and Nikita stepped inside. Nikita buried her face in Michael's shoulder to keep herself from giggling. 

"Well, I never!" Mrs. Maxwell sniffed. 

"If their presence bothers you, ma'am, I'm sure we can find you another hotel..." 

The doors of the elevator slid shut; leather creaked as Michael extended an arm and pressed the button for their floor. 

"So, do you think people are going to remember us?" Nikita teased. 

"They will before we're through," Michael murmured, brushing her hair away from her ear so he could run his tongue along her earlobe. Nikita closed her eyes and counted to ten, breathing slowly. 

I can't jump him in _here_ , she wailed to herself. As much as I'd like to... 

The elevator slowed to a gut-clenching stop and the doors parted. Nikita pulled Michael out by his hand and nearly shouted for joy. A few feet away was the linen closet. 

"I can't wait anymore, Michael." 

************ 

Nikita backed the willing Michael into the linen closet. As the door swung shut behind them, Michael's jacket slid from his shoulders with a whisper and puddled onto the floor. She nipped at his lips teasingly, backing him farther into the small service room. More gently, Nikita tugged at the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, flinging it in the direction of the towel-laden shelves. His sunglasses had come off with the shirt, hair tumbling into his eyes. 

Nikita slammed Michael against a shelf and took his mouth, tongue darting between his wind-roughened lips to stroke his liquid depths. His hands rose to her shoulders and helped her struggle out of her leather jacket, the sleeves catching at her wrists. Arms free, Nikita ran her fingertips down the smooth expanse of his chest, slipping one stocking-clad thigh between his legs and grinding forward. 

"Nikita," he breathed as she ran little bites down the corded length of his neck. "Our room is down the hall." 

"Unh," Nikita murmured, flicking out her tongue to taste his chin. "Here...can't wait." 

Michael's hands rose from her hips and he slipped his thumbs inside her leather mini-dress. The callused pads of his thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts; Nikita moaned and wriggled against his hands, pressing forward. She nearly wept when his hands stilled. Nikita opened her eyes and saw Michael staring at something in the corner with a speculative glint to his eyes. 

"Michael?" 

He swung his gaze back and Nikita clutched at his shoulders to stay upright. His green eyes were glowing with some conspiratorial and deliciously wicked light. Nikita moaned and rubbed her body against his burgeoning heat, intensely aroused that he reserved looks like that for _her_ alone. 

Thank God, Nikita thought hazily. If he looked at the new recruits like that, we'd have to scrape them off the floor and issue asbestos blankets as protection. 

"Want to go for a ride, 'Kita?" 

Nikita's skin shivered in anticipation at his husky voice, and she communicated her confusion by cocking her head and spreading her kiss-swollen lips in a grin. "What?" 

We just got _off_ the motorcycle, Nikita thought. I won't survive another elevator trip down to the parking garage and we'll get kicked out for lewd and lascivious conduct. Her smile widened at the thought. 

"A ride, 'Kita," he repeated, flicking that wicked gaze sideways. Nikita craned to look in the corner and gasped as Michael chose that moment to suckle her neck. She was looking at a full laundry cart. 

"I don't get it, Michael," she drawled. 

His eyes darkened and his lips curved into an expectant grin. "You will." 

Nikita felt the pressure of his hands at her waist a second before Michael lifted her into the air and deposited her on the soft linen in the cart. When Michael's lips slanted across her mouth and his tongue stroked the hot walls of her mouth, Nikita automatically wrapped her legs around his hips and jerked him closer. Michael caught her lower lip between his teeth and pulled away, scraping the soft tissue. His eyes gleamed as his hands disentangled her legs from his hips. 

"Lean back," he commanded. 

Nikita leaned back and settled herself on her elbows in the cart. Her legs fell open in invitation when Michael's lips parted and his fingers began stroking up her inner thighs, toward the hem of her leather skirt. His fingers teased over the tops of her stockings as he inched her skirt up, rubbing her smooth skin with his rough fingertips. He leaned forward and expelled a puff of hot air over her aching wetness, drawing circles on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs with his thumbs. 

Nikita writhed and bucked towards his sculpted mouth. He teased her with another breath of air, watching her from underneath his thick eyelashes. 

" _Mi-chael_ ," she groaned, voice breaking when he took an exploratory lap with his tongue mid-word. 

"Mmm," he hummed, nuzzling her depths with his lips. The vibrating sensation sent Nikita gasping for breath and writhing forward, digging her spike heels into the side of the cart for leverage. Michael gave her what she desperately wanted and delved deep with his tongue, rubbing her clit with his nose. Nikita sighed at the contact, her back arching in pleasure. Hazily, she realized Michael's hands had left her thighs. About to protest, Nikita was hit by a wave of pure pleasure. 

The cart has _wheels_ , her brain communicated to her crazily. Wheels. Oh. My. God. 

Michael's hands maneuvered the cart again, lapping at her musky wetness; as he slammed the cart into the shelf, he darted his tongue deep inside her. Nikita's head fell back and she clutched at the edge of the cart. His lips suckled at her sensitive bud in between collisions. 

"Uh," Nikita sighed as Michael slammed the cart into the wall again and twisted his head. She was utterly beyond speech, could only spread her thighs wider to communicate she wanted _more_. 

Michael backed the cart violently into a shelf, forcing his tongue deeper inside and hitting a sensitive spot. Nikita's back arched off the linen. He did it again, twisting his head on impact. Nikita made a guttural sound, losing control of her limbs. Once more, Michael slammed the cart, delving his tongue so deep inside Nikita's hips bucked forward. Her perception narrowed to take in the man still tantalizing her, his thumbs once again sending shivers through her skin where he touched her. He continued lapping at her silky walls as Nikita shuddered, a languorous heat radiating outward. Tingling down to her fingers, toes, flushing her earlobes, hazing her blue eyes as dark spots edged her vision... 

************ 

Nikita's eyes were drawn to the enormous bulge in Michael's leopard-print pants as she tugged her mini-dress into place. She watched, licking her lips, as Michael shoved his shirt into the pocket of his leather trench coat and slipped it on over his naked shoulders. 

After Michael had given her an intensely erotic release, he had refused to let her delve her tingling fingers into those leopard-print pants. 

"Be patient, 'Kita. We need a bed for what I want from you," he had murmured. The contained hunger in his voice had nearly caused Nikita to throw caution to the wind again and demand that he show her what he wanted _now_. But anticipation was always a good aphrodisiac...not that she needed one where he was concerned. 

Nikita shivered as Michael turned around and offered her his lean hand, feeling her nipples tighten in response to his sweat-sheened, muscled chest. She slid her hand into his, entwining her fingers in his strong, callused grip. Michael led her out of the linen closet. The door swung open and they glided out...and ran straight into a maid. 

The short woman stopped in her tracks, her comfortable black shoes hissing on the carpet underfoot. "Excuse me," she said immediately. Her sharp gaze flicked up and down the pair, taking in the swollen lips, the hair in disarray. Michael's broad chest, Nikita's hastily rearranged dress. The maid pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her starched apron. She said nothing, simply staring with one dark eyebrow cocked. 

Michael gave her a brilliant smile, tucking Nikita's arm close to his body. "Please forgive us," he entreated, letting his accent grow thick. His green eyes caught her name tag pinned neatly on her apron. "We'll make it up to you, Emily." 

Her stony glare defrosted a bit at Michael's charming smile. Emily shook her head, a strand of hair escaping her severe bun. "You'd better. Shoo. Get on with you." 

Michael began leading Nikita down the richly appointed hall towards their room. 

"Use the room! That's what it's there for!" Emily called to their backs, slipping inside the linen closet and muttering indecipherable phrases under her breath. 

"Oh, they're gonna remember _us_ , all right," Nikita murmured into Michael's ear as he unlocked the door to their room. Michael motioned for her to precede him, his eyes admiring her form in the tight dress as she strode ahead into the room and skirted their bags inside the door. His mouth quirked at her soft exclamation of surprise. 

The hotel was too posh to be garish in the honeymoon suite. The rooms had been furnished tastefully with newlyweds in mind. Nikita moved forward, grinning wickedly at the Jacuzzi in the large bathroom. The bed was king-size, taking up a large portion of the bedroom. There was a small living room with plush furniture with a balcony leading off to one side. 

"Nikita," Michael called. Nikita turned away from where she had been pressing her nose against the glass to see the view from the balcony. "Come here." 

She strolled leisurely towards Michael, where he stood at the foot of the bed. She swayed her hips suggestively, pleased that his eyes were following her torturously slow movements across the room. Nikita stopped inches away from Michael and jutted her chin. 

"Tell me what you want from me, Michael," Nikita drawled, watching his pupils dilate at her husky tone. 

"Take off your dress," he ordered, voice soft. 

Nikita grinned and reached behind her back, slowly unzipping the leather mini-dress, knowing her pose accentuated her high breasts. The zipper rasped down and Nikita slipped the straps from her shoulders, shimmying out of the tight dress until it slid to her feet. 

"Sit down," Michael said, commanding. He shrugged out of the leather trench coat and tossed it on the floor next to her dress. Nikita perched on the edge of the bed, nude but for her stocking and stiletto pumps. Michael crouched down in front of her, his thick thigh muscles pulling the fabric taut. His fingers stroked down her left leg and pulled her foot into his lap, dexterously unbuckling her high heel and slowly sliding the shoe from her foot. He left her arch pressed against his heat and brought her other foot into his lap, removing the shoe as well. 

"Lie down." 

Nikita pulled herself farther onto the mattress with her elbows, watching Michael's hands as they pulled off his boots and peeled off the leopard-print pants. 

Next time he wears those, Nikita thought as Michael advanced onto the bed, I'll have to lick the spots and see if they come off. 

"No, 'Kita," he murmured as she reached for him. "We're going to be creative." 

"We are?" Nikita asked hopefully, licking her lips in anticipation as Michael climbed around her on the bed. She tilted her head back and stared up as Michael kneeled above her head. A slow smile spread across her face as she realized his intentions. He prowled down her body towards her feet. Nikita couldn't resist, licking at his chest as it passed over her face. Michael responded by nibbling a line down her abdomen as he crept closer to his goal. 

"I like creative," Nikita murmured. Michael moaned as her hot breath teased over his hard heat, and he dipped his head to taste the liquid depths at the apex of her thighs. Nikita gasped and arched her back as Michael's tongue entered her where it had been only minutes before. She reached up and lapped at his arousal, swirling her tongue around his velvet tip and savoring the liquid pearling there. They moaned together, hands cupping the other's hips, suckling. Pleasuring and being pleasured. 

The sensation was intense, highly erotic. Michael's mouth teased and sucked at her aching core, his tongue and teeth worrying at her until Nikita wanted to scream in frustration. His muscles were rock-hard beneath her hands, her mouth closing again and again over his hot length, taking him into her throat. 

But it wasn't enough. 

Nikita gave Michael's velvet tip a parting lick and took the initiative. She used her body weight to flip Michael over on the bed and onto his back, quickly pulling herself up and down his muscled body. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked back at his bright eyes, throwing him a teasing grin as she hovered over his throbbing arousal. 

His fingers singed her skin as they closed over her hips, convincing her to lower herself down. Michael's hips left the bed as she let him enter her inch by frustrating inch. When he was completely inside, Nikita sighed and lowered herself until her back rested on his tense chest. Michael's strong arms wrapped around her midsection and he sat up. Nikita threw her neck back and gasped; Michael took advantage and bit the cords standing out on her neck, soothing with his hot tongue. 

Michael lunged forward again and Nikita's stomach came into contact with the smooth coverlet. One hand splayed over her abdomen, stroking her skin with his fingertips; the other hand crept down and parted her folds, teasing her bud as he stroked into her. 

"Michael," Nikita breathed, spreading her hands to steady them both against his grinding thrusts. He filled her completely, then almost pulled out before he ground back into her. Nikita bucked back against his hips, writhing as he began stroking faster, harder, wilder. Her panting breaths swelled him even larger, and he added a sharp twist to his hips as he thrust into her once more. 

"'Kita," he murmured in her ear as she began trembling beneath him, eyes closed and jaw open as her orgasm roared through her veins. Her breath left her body as he stroked her through it, thrusting her higher. Their gasps buzzed in her ears, her fingers clutched at the soft fabric underneath her. And then there was the sweet sting of Michael's teeth closing on her shoulder, his heavy weight settling against her, lazy warmth spreading to her fingertips and toes. 

************ 

Nikita lay on the mussed bed, limbs entangled with the warm, solid mass she called Michael breathing softly into her neck. She felt heavy, limbs almost numb from pleasure, fingers twitching idly over his smooth skin and the rough silk of his lengthening curls. Her garter belt was biting into her skin, but Nikita was loathe to move. 

She had missed Michael, his quiet strength. The way his austere features relaxed in sleep, his musky scent, the taste of his mouth. She had missed his touch, his voice, his self-assurance. Nikita knew she ought to get some sleep before their mission went live, but she couldn't force herself to close her eyes and lay claim to oblivion. She was enjoying watching Michael sleep too much. 

He made a low sound and shifted slightly. Nikita bit back a moan as his stubble rubbed over the sensitized skin at her neck. His hand flexed and brushed the underside of her breast, one thigh sliding down an inch. The way his muscles gently rippled from the slight change in position made Nikita hungry for him again. 

But no matter how much she wanted to look into his drugging gaze, Nikita wouldn't wake him up. Her eyes flicked over to his bicep, doing a visual check of his bandage. 

He needs his sleep, she thought. Her index finger idly twirled a cinnamon curl. I've been wearing him out, Nikita added to herself, allowing a satisfied grin to crease her face. 

Despite her efforts, Nikita awoke to a pair of amused green eyes. Michael's hand brushed her hair from her eyes and she gave him a sleepy grin. 

"What time is it?" 

"We have a few minutes," he said. 

Nikita wiggled underneath him and began unhooking her garter belt. Michael obligingly rolled to the side and propped his head on his hand. He watched in appreciation as Nikita worked the stockings down her long legs and tossed them onto the floor, where they drifted to the plush carpet. 

Task accomplished, Nikita rolled over to press her body against Michael's lean length. "How many minutes?" 

Michael's eyes glittered in the darkness; he reached a finger out and traced her full lips. "Not enough," he rasped. 

Nikita groaned and pressed her forehead against his, wrapping her arms around his strong body and hugging him close. "Who designed this profile, anyway?" she groused. 

"You did," Michael said, amused. He nuzzled her neck and shifted onto his back, laying Nikita's head on his chest. She could hear his heart beat. 

"We need to get ready, don't we?" 

"Yes," Michael agreed. 

"Shall we both get out of bed on three?" Nikita asked, drawing her finger around Michael's flat nipple. 

"On three?" 

She grinned. Michael sounded aroused and confused. Just how I like him, she thought. 

"Yeah," Nikita breathed. "I count to three and then we both get up." 

"Okay." 

Nikita held in a groan as she felt his chuckle rumble through his chest. "Alright. One...two...three!" 

Before Nikita could react, Michael gathered her up in his arms and climbed out of the bed. He slid her body down slowly, leaning her back, bending over her with his sculpted lips parted... 

Nikita arched her neck to kiss Michael when his arm abruptly left her body and picked up their suitcase. He tossed it onto the bed. At Nikita's stormy frown, he pulled her upright and feathered his lips over her mouth before capturing it in a drugging kiss. 

"We need," he murmured, suckling at her lower lip, "to get ready, 'Kita." 

Nikita glanced at the clock and hooked her foot around Michael's legs, tossing him back on the bed. "We've got time," she growled. 

"Is that an order?" Michael asked, raising himself onto his elbows. 

"I'm the Team Leader and I say we've got time," Nikita purred, prowling onto the bed and hovering above him. "Have some respect for my authority, Michael." 

Michael's arm snaked out and pulled her down onto the bed; he rolled with her until Nikita's shoulders were again pressed against the bed. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

************* 

"Orders?" Michael asked, hovering over Nikita and caging her with his arms, a blank mask settling over his features, incongruous with his blazing eyes and reddened lips. Nikita stretched beneath him and gazed at him from underneath lowered eyelashes. 

"I don't know what I should do with you, Michael," Nikita purred, lifting her thigh between his legs. She held back a laugh as his arousal jumped where it pressed into her hip. "You've been insubordinate." 

"Have I?" 

"Yes," Nikita nodded, suckling at his lips before leaning back again. "Unless you want to be punished, Michael, you'll have to do everything I say." 

Michael's eyes gleamed and a smile tugged at his mask, but he smoothed the blank expression. "Yes." 

Nikita's eyes flicked to the clock and she sighed, absently rubbing the inside of her thigh against Michael's leg, her attention drawn back by his low hiss. "Take me, Michael. Hard...and fast," Nikita ordered. 

Michael didn't respond verbally; after the initial flare in his green eyes, his mouth came down and drove the breath from Nikita's lungs. His tongue lapped at her voraciously, nipping and biting with an abandon Nikita had rarely seen from Michael. He made her weak. He made her blood stutter in her veins. He made her re-learn the definition of _want_...and _need_. 

"Michael," she breathed as he moved his attentions down her jaw and under her throat. He bit down her neck and a low sound of pleasure gurgled in her throat. When Michael progressed to her breasts, ravishing the soft tissue into hard, damp peaks, Nikita could only gasp from the pleasure-pain of his seeking mouth. Mindlessly, her hips bucked off the mattress, searching for Michael's hard heat. 

She wanted him. She needed him. _Now_. If he wasn't inside her soon, the depth of her desire would burn up her flesh, disintegrate her. 

Nikita closed her eyes and nearly wept when she felt his velvet tip rub against her; she was more than ready as he thrust inside, entering her almost completely. Nikita made a choking sound and her hips convulsed upward, her heels digging in at the juncture of his buttocks and thighs to force him deeper. 

Michael's lips and tongue tortured her again, lapping at the satin walls of her mouth as he began to move inside her without allowing her to fully adjust to the size of his arousal. Her walls spasmed and clutched at his swollen length as he rocked into her, increasing his pace into hard, quick jabs. Nikita panted and scrabbled at his back with her fingers, the barrage of sensations too much for her nervous system to process. 

The moment she teetered on the edge of her orgasm, Nikita regained lucidity just long enough to bite Michael's earlobe and whisper, "Come with me." Michael's hands captured her head and he stared into her eyes as the violent tremors overtook her, locking her jaw, arching her back, spasming almost every muscle in her body. As she let out a soft, sobbing exhale, Michael's mouth closed over hers again and she felt him tremble as he came. 

A moment later, Nikita blinked and glanced at the clock, acutely aware of Michael's lips pressing on her neck. Every inch of her skin tingled, hyper-aware of the man sprawled on it. She blinked again. 

No, that can't be right, she told herself. She stared at the numbers, unwilling to believe that Michael had reduced to her a quivering, boneless and sated mass of flesh in well under ten minutes. 

She craned her neck and sought Michael's eyes, realizing he was laying with his chin propped between her small breasts and staring up at her. His eyes twinkled. The damnable man appeared energized by the whole thing, sweat sheening his muscles. Nikita felt like she had just ran a marathon and then taken a long bubble bath. 

"I can't move," she blurted. 

Great. Now _I'm_ the one who's aroused and confused, she thought. 

"I'm on top of you, 'Kita," he answered, patronizing her. The rasp of his stubble at her breast nearly made Nikita's eyes roll back in her head. 

"Yes. You are." She couldn't think of anything else to say. Her mind was wholly occupied with processing all the various sensations he had given and was now giving her by shifting restlessly on her body. Michael pulled back and out of her to crawl off the bed; Nikita nearly screeched in child-like frustration that his touch was gone. 

Michael hauled Nikita's slack body from the bed and helped her stand up. Nikita grumbled at Michael's amusement as they both discovered her knees were wobbly, their arms reaching out to steady and be steadied. 

"What did you do to me?" Nikita mumbled, turning in circles to find their valise. Michael's warm arms closed around her waist and he hugged her to him. 

"I followed my orders, 'Kita," he said, drawing her to the foot of the bed where they had inadvertently kicked off the suitcase. He pulled out her mission blacks and piled them in her arms, pushing her back towards the bathroom to splash cool water on her face. The lycra and leather fit a bit _too_ snugly over her tender skin, and Nikita uncomfortably exited the bathroom to see Michael setting up the equipment. Nikita propped herself against the wall and watched him work, placing an audio playback in the bathroom, a motion sensor inside the main door, and hanging the _Do Not Disturb_ sign. 

If anyone were to enter the suite, a tape recording of her and Michael making noisy, passionate love would begin playing inside the closed bathroom door. Nikita grinned as she thought about her profile. It hadn't taken very long for them to produce those tapes last night. Another recorder was set to play at regular intervals in the bedroom. For the sake of the other guests, Nikita hoped that the walls were thick. But not _too_ thick... 

Michael motioned for her forward and began arranging the harness for them to rappel down from the balcony. There were security cameras in the hallway which Nikita had considered messing with, but entering and exiting via the balcony required less technology and fewer explanations should Red Fist come inquiring. Not that Lucas would ever ask about their methods again, but the upper echelons might insist. This profile had been far more intricate than most Nikita had written in the past. She felt a thrill ripple through her stomach, driving away the enervation from Michael's explosive lovemaking, and watched Michael slide a mask over his face so that only his pale eyes were visible. He disappeared over the side carrying the rest of their supplies. There was a soft hissing sound as he descended the few floors to the ground, the tension in the rope relaxing as he touched down. 

Nikita took a deep breath through her mask. This will work, she assured herself, clambering over the side and dropping into the darkness. 

************ 

Nikita crouched in the bushes as Michael competently disarmed the burglar alarm. She waited until Michael slipped inside the darkened house, following his black shape. Nikita gritted her teeth as they began systematically looting the house. She had chosen very carefully which houses she and Michael were to rob. The inhabitants had to be away for the Mother's Day weekend. They must not have been robbed before, and a robbery must not put them in the poorhouse. They must not have very young children who would be needlessly frightened...Nikita's list went on and on. No guard dog. Simple security, a good distance from the road... 

She and Michael flitted silently through the house; Nikita couldn't swallow for the bitter tang on her tongue. 

I feel like such a _jerk_ , she thought to herself, going through the jewelry while Michael patiently teased open the safe. 

Despite all the restrictions, Nikita had come up with a few houses. She almost wished she hadn't, so Madeline or Michael could profile the mission. That way, she would only be _following_ orders rather than _giving_ them. It was a slight difference, but a telling one for her conscience. 

I don't know how Michael can deal with feeling like such a _heel_ all the time, she grumbled to herself. I'd better not go near a church anytime soon. A lightning bolt would fry me. With my luck, it wouldn't kill me, but I'd end up looking like I had visited Marge Simpson's hairdresser. 

Nikita stuffed the loot in the pack at her belt, finishing with her sweep of the house. She took care not to dislodge anything else as she slipped back into the dark study and squeezed Michael's shoulder. He raised his head and nodded, slipping the valuables into his bag and rising. Their shapes ghosted across a mirror hanging in the hallway as they flitted through the house. Nikita led the way out the window and approached the black van in a crouching run. Michael slid into the driver's seat and the motor turned over with a low growl. He drove silently and carefully to the next house, parking on a low-traffic street with plenty of ground cover. 

They slipped out and repeated their actions, encountering no anomalies like a recently acquired pet or a state-of-the-art burglar alarm. Not like any alarm system available to the public would have stopped them, or even put a crimp in their profile. It just would have been an annoyance. 

The last house on their itinerary didn't make Nikita feel guilty at all. As she and Michael disabled her security system and broke into Amy Muldoon's house, Nikita could only feel a faint sense of revenge. Maybe a _little_ attack of conscience. But just a little. 

Nikita almost couldn't stifle her snickers as she rifled through Amy Muldoon's bedroom. Michael noiselessly padded in the room after a few moments, and Nikita proudly held up a plastic vibrator and a pack of batteries. She could see the skin around his eyes crinkle in amusement. Nikita put the vibrator down and pulled out a velvet whip and a pair of handcuffs. Michael crossed his arms and cocked his head, as if to say, "Is there more?" Nikita's shoulders shook with laughter as she lifted a dominatrix outfit from the dresser drawer and wiggled it at Michael suggestively. 

This is what you're missing, Michael, she thought silently, replacing the garish leather outfit. 

He crossed the room silently and slipped his gloved fingers under her chin, raising her gaze. The fingers drew back and tapped his wrist. She nodded. They were low on time. Nikita wished she didn't have her mask on; she was sure Michael would appreciate the grin curving her face. 

They withdrew from the house and back to the van, driving back to the hotel parking garage. They left the van there for Section operatives to retrieve as soon as she and Michael reached their hotel room. They prowled to the back of the hotel, the air of the early morning heavy and muffling the quiet sounds of Nikita connecting her grappling hook to the balcony. She felt a quick caress at her waist as Michael gave her the go-ahead, and she rushed up into the air. 

Nikita clambered over the balcony edge and detached her line, backing up to give Michael space to maneuver. She coiled the length of nylon and checked the room as Michael leapt gracefully onto the balcony. They stowed their gear, finding nothing amiss with the hotel room. 

"All clear, Birkoff," Nikita muttered. She methodically stripped off her clothes as Michael collected the electronics, and climbed onto the bed. The sheets felt gloriously clean and cool on her weary body. Moments later, she felt the mattress creak and sag with Michael's weight. She automatically rolled towards him, their warm skin touching and tingling with recognition. 

"G'night, Michael," she murmured, sighing and nestling her head on his chest over his beating heart. Her arms wrapped themselves around his waist, snuggling against his body heat. Michael brushed her hair away from her face, a soft smile lighting his face as he realized she was already asleep. He risked waking her by lowering his head and pressing a kiss to her temple. 

"Sleep well, my Nikita." 

************ 

Michael shifted in his sleep and came instantly awake, conscious of the pillowcase pressing into his cheek and the covers muffling his sprawled body. He turned his head, stubble rasping on the linen, and listened. A low hum. Splashing. 

Nikita was in the Jacuzzi. Without him. 

For Michael, there was only one word that could describe the situation: iniquitous. 

Michael rolled out of bed and landed noiselessly on his bare feet, padding across the bedroom and to the bathroom door. He pushed and the door swung inward, revealing Nikita's lean back curving forward. Her hair was tied in a loose knot on the top of her head and her fingers were closing around a courtesy bottle of bubble bath. 

Michael leaned his cheek against the door and watched Nikita's ablutions, enraptured. From her posture, he could tell she was smiling as she shook out a sizable dollop of the stuff, the jets producing an instant froth of bubbles. Her arms raised and half-heartedly tried to massage her shoulders, sliding deeper into the steamy water. 

Michael could resist no longer. He moved forward and dipped his hands in the water to work at her stiff muscles. 

"Were you going to stand there all day?" Nikita drawled, head drooping forward in relaxation. 

"I thought about it." 

"Get in," she urged, scooting forward. Water sloshed as Michael lowered himself in behind her. She scooted back into the cradle of his thighs and presented her shoulders for his further attention. "Much better," she murmured, gliding her palms over his thick thigh muscles. They sat there in companionable silence, jets whirring and water softly lapping at their skin as Michael worked the kinks out of her back. 

"How's your arm?" Nikita mumbled after a while, startled from her doze when her nose dipped into the water. Michael had pulled her back against his chest to halt her from further mishaps until she regained her perspicacity. 

"Fine," he replied. Nikita jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. "It's healing." 

"Let me see," Nikita ordered, spinning herself around in the Jacuzzi. She unwrapped the bandage and had to concur; Michael's bullet wound was healing rapidly, as usual, and looked much improved despite his recent exertions. She nudged herself forward to examine the injury, holding back a grin as her small breasts continually brushed against his taut chest underwater from the movement of the jets. Michael's finger began tracing up and down her right arm, dipping in and out of the hot water. 

"Michael," Nikita said suddenly. "I'm still your Team Leader." She grinned, nudging herself forward and feeling his obvious response to her closeness. It seemed like they were always ready for each other. "I have just one order for you." 

"What is it?" Michael asked, moving away from the wall so Nikita could slip her legs around his waist. 

"I want you to...relax." 

Michael chuckled into her neck, running his teeth down its slick length to nibble at the dip on her shoulder. His hands flexed on her sleek butt, languorously shifting her onto his hardened length. Nikita sighed in pleasure and began caressing his water-slick body as Michael set a tantalizingly slow pace. Her fingers dribbled water down his broad shoulders, trailing down his biceps and forearms, for a moment covering his hands encasing her hips. 

The displaced water slapped against the tub walls, increasing in frequency as Michael dipped his head to suckle at the rosy crests of Nikita's breasts. The water was hot, but Michael's velvet tongue was scalding as it circled her damp peaks. He allowed a tortured nipple to slip form his mouth and rubbed his raspy stubble over the aroused tissue. After he finished teasing her breasts, Michael brought one hand up between her shoulder blades. Her puckered nipples pressed against his chest, scraping up and down his damp skin. Nikita bit her lower lip and slid her hands under the water to grip his muscled butt, helping him gyrate her hips over his swollen length. 

The water slapped more frantically as their bodies became locked into this pose, eyes blazing, mouths open and panting, a fraction of an inch from touching. The tip of Nikita's tongue appeared at the corner of her lip, transfixing Michael's jade green eyes. Their moist breath commingled and tantalized; Nikita's lips parted farther as she felt the aching, liquid pleasure build to the breaking point. 

She realized, a split second before her neck snapped back from her orgasm, that she and Michael hadn't even kissed yet. 

Good morning to you, too, Michael, her mind whispered as her body convulsed, shuddering gasps clogging her throat. 

************ 

"Is that everything?" Nikita called, striding through the rooms and doing a visual scan. It wouldn't do to leave anything incriminating. Nikita was sure Madeline would have a few choice words to say if they did. 

"Let's go, Nikita," Michael answered from the hall door, his voice distorted by traveling through the two rooms. Nikita sauntered toward his voice, her stiletto heels sinking into the heavy carpet. She and Michael were wearing the same clothes as yesterday. There had been no room in the valise after packing their mission blacks and the equipment. 

Michael stood at the door with the valise weighing down one arm, glancing impatiently inside the room. Light reflected off his dark sunglasses and glinted off his cinnamon hair. Nikita's eyes savored the now familiar outfit of a black mesh shirt and those leopard print pants. Nikita had his leather trench coat draped over her arm along with her jacket. It was overwarm in the rooms; she and Michael had spent a long time in the Jacuzzi, and its steam had escaped into the suite. 

A flush rose to Nikita's cheeks as they passed the linen closet. Michael's firm hand at her waist kept her from straying inside for another _ride_. He ushered her inside the elevator, caging her against the wall with his hips and the length of one muscled arm. Nikita smirked as another couple entered the elevator on the way down to the lobby and raised her face for a kiss. Michael obliged, feathering a tempting caress over her lips and pulling away as the elevator reached the ground floor. 

They checked out hurriedly and strode to the parking garage. Michael stowed their bag and threw his leg over the saddle of the bike. Nikita secured their coats on the saddle and clambered on behind Michael. Before Michael could start the bike, Nikita leaned forward in an incredible display of her agility and nuzzled his hard thigh. She darted her tongue out and licked at a black leopard spot on his pants. 

Nikita rocked herself against one taut buttock as he turned and gazed at her questioningly on the seat. Nikita leaned forward and caught Michael's lips in a lush kiss, hot mouths fusing together for a few heart-pounding seconds. They broke apart when their position became too awkward, Michael half-twisted around on the saddle and Nikita angling her body around his shoulder. She grinned to stop Michael from turning back and delicately licked the small dimple in his chin. 

"Just wanted to see if the spots came off," she explained huskily, grinning at him with all the attitude she could muster, knowing it would stir his desires. The skin around his eyes crinkled and Michael swung around, snapping up the kick stand and twisting the key perhaps a touch more quickly than he needed. The motor vibrated to life between their thighs. 

Nikita chuckled to herself and settled in for the ride as Michael maneuvered the bike through the levels of the parking garage. Every time Michael took a corner, Nikita took advantage of it and arched herself closer to Michael's broad back. Her fingers idly stroked the thin fabric covering his chest. By the time Michael steered the bike onto a ground level street, Nikita's palm was boldly cupping his arousal. 

She taunted and tempted him the entire drive, running her fingers along the natural curves of his muscles and suddenly scraping his skin through the fabric with her fingernails. Nuzzling his neck with her nose and lips, burrowing through a mass of fragrant curls. Nikita massaged his hard thighs, rhythmically rocking her hips forward. Scenery began to blur as Michael sped up with each blatant seduction. 

Nikita might have commented on their excessive speed, but she was closely approaching the point where she didn't give a damn if Michael wanted to park the bike so they could go at it on the shoulder of the road. 

I'm glad Michael's got such legendary control, Nikita thought. Otherwise, I'd get us arrested... 

Nikita's hips rocked forward unconsciously as Michael turned onto their street. He turned his head slightly and shouted over the noises of wind and engine. 

"Garage door opener. In my coat." 

Nikita clenched her knees around Michael's waist and twisted around to dig in his coat pockets. She went through both outside pockets, finding their house keys, his phone, a pen missing its cap. Nikita moved to the inner breast pocket and triumphantly removed the garage door opener as Michael slowed to turn onto their driveway. 

Nikita waved at Lydia, who was standing on her lawn ogling their clothing, a trowel forgotten in her gloved hands. The door creaked up and Michael eased the motorcycle into the garage. He lowered the kick stand with his heel and cut the motor. Nikita eased herself off the bike and stretched, starting towards the door leading into the house. 

"Come here, Nikita," Michael ordered. 

Nikita flipped her wind-blown hair over her shoulder and approached him slowly. "Yes, Michael?" 

The sunglasses came off suddenly, revealing a pair of heated green eyes. Michael's hands closed over her waist and he began dragging her onto his lap, still straddling the bike. Nikita was soon tightly snugged against Michael's throbbing heat. The angled seat made a perfect cradle for their joined hips. 

"Lie back," he murmured, eyes blazing and yet...calculating. Nikita didn't particularly feel like denying him and leaned back, the silver motor casing fitting into the curve of her back like it had been made for her. The top of Nikita's head rested against the dash, hips still securely pressed to Michael's warmth. His hands slipped under her thighs and tugged her closer, leaning forward to close his fingers around her dangling wrists. He pulled her arms up and experimentally positioned a wrist against each bike handle. 

Satisfied, he released her hands and rested his palms on his knees, hovering his face over hers. "Want to try something, 'Kita?" 

"Yeah," was her immediate answer. 

Michael's hands were behind his back, unhooking her stiletto pumps. Her fingers itched to trace his pectoral muscles through the tightly clinging fabric. Nikita flicked each one off, the shoes landing with a _clack_ on the cement floor. Michael fingers trailed back, unhooking the straps that held her stockings in place. He eased one stocking off, fingertips playing a torturous game with her flesh, flexing and brushing until Nikita writhed with impatience. Michael draped the stocking around Nikita's neck and proceeded to tease her by sliding off the other one. 

Not to be outdone, Nikita tugged at the hem of Michael's mesh shirt and slowly eased it up. She leaned in to taste the skin of his taut abdomen as it appeared, stopping momentarily to lick his flat nipple. Nikita strained upwards and yanked the shirt free of Michael's arms, flinging the garment onto the hood of the car. Her fingers delved into his wind-blown mass of hair, massaging his scalp as she tilted his head up for a kiss. Their mouths melded, tongues searching, tasting silken walls and hard teeth. The kiss deepened and their hips rocked convulsively together, Michael's hands moving to her leather-clad rear to grind her more firmly against his arousal. 

Michael lowered her back against the motor casing and took her hand, his body a welcome weight pressing her down on the cool metal. One hand pressed her wrist to the handlebar; the other slowly drew a silky stocking from around her neck. The fabric slid sensually over her skin, and Michael tied her wrist the handlebar in a neat bow. He nuzzled his way down her bare arm, kissing the exposed swelling of her breasts. He took her other hand and slowly slid the other stocking out from around her neck, loosely tying it, as well. His kissed his way down her other arm and up the side of her throat, biting at her jaw. 

Nikita's hips bucked as Michael's fingers delved under the hem of her minidress and began working it up, brushing her inner thighs and the crease where her thighs and hips met. 

"Hurry, Michael," Nikita whimpered, urgently needing to be filled with the contained heat pressing against her. Michael finished easing her skirt up and his hands went to his waist. Nikita licked her lips and watched with rapt attention as Michael unfastened his leopard-print pants. She arched her back and strained to lift herself up. Michael wrestled the material down, over his heavy arousal and taut butt, so that the fabric bunched at the tops of his thighs. 

"Yes," she hissed as she felt Michael's velvet tip rubbing against her slick heat. "Be rough." Michael thrust into her, knocking her hips back against the silver motor casing. Nikita gasped as Michael used the natural incline of the seat to his advantage and let gravity help him thrust more deeply inside her silken walls, thighs flexing underneath her as he used his widely planted feed for leverage. His hands slipped under her and spread across her butt, grinding her forward on his throbbing length with a faint protesting creak of metal. 

Nikita's head went back at the incredible feel of his hardness sliding in and out of her. Michael leaned forward with her, hitting her at yet another angle. His mouth nibbled along her exposed throat, lips pinching the delicate skin, his mouth's softness an erotic contrast to his hard arousal. He worried at the spot where her jaw met her neck, sliding his teeth along the sensitized skin. 

Nikita whimpered softly as Michael rocked her hips faster, his length delving in and out with a fierce quickness that increased the liquid aching in her groin. Their panting breath stirred the musty air in the cool garage, filling it with the musky scent of mutual arousal. Michael's heels were no longer on the ground; he levered himself into Nikita's depths with the toes of his boots. The soft glow of sweat on Michael's chest and upper lip made Nikita wrench her wrists from the flimsy stockings. She slid her hands over the hot skin of his butt, crushing him to her with an increasing fervor. The cords of her neck stood out as she sought Michael's lips, warring with his velvet tongue. 

Michael slid her hips down a bit, scooting back on the saddle without drawing his swollen length from her. 

"Mi-chael," Nikita moaned as his hips bore down on her, the new angle crushing them together with a delicious friction. The first deep thrust sent Nikita's muscles into a slow spasm. Her fingers clutched at his hard curves and time slowed down. She could feel every thick inch of him withdrawing and penetrating her contracting walls, his hot breath in her mouth as he continued to taste her. She heard the frantic creaking of the bike as Michael stroked into her bucking hips. The ache blossomed into a spreading warmth, an intense pleasure-pain, as she felt Michael spasm inside her. Their slick, seeking mouths stole the breath from the other's lungs as they strained and spiraled...together... 

************ 

Nikita made a contented noise, muscles slack, metal pressing into her leather-covered back. Michael loomed above her, forearms planted on the handlebars of the motorcycle. She lolled her head to the side, checking on something. 

Good, she thought. The garage door _is_ closed...not that it matters _now_. 

They were tightly wedged together in the saddle; Nikita moaned as Michael shifted, pulling her upright and lifting her off the bike. Off _him_. She sagged against the car, bracing her palms on the hood. Nikita licked her lips as Michael tugged the leopard-skin pants back over his smooth hips, and glanced speculatively at the hood of their sedan. 

We'd probably dent it, she thought ruefully as Michael slowly climbed off the bike. She chuckled at the idea of submitting the bill to Section for the body work to pound out a butt-shaped dent. If it weren't for Section, Michael and I would _never_ be able to get automotive insurance. 

Michael pressed a kiss to Nikita's temple and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the door. 

"What happened?" she gasped, scuffing her bare feet on the cement. Nikita held up Michael's hand, the knuckles red and raw. 

"Friction burn," he said, pulling her inside the door. 

Friction burn, Nikita thought. Why do I like the sound of that? 

"But I didn't -" Nikita stopped in her tracks in the hallway and Michael came up short, still holding her hand. "Michael, I need to ask you a question." 

"Yes?" He was staring at her, looking delectable and recently ravished. Lips red. Hair mussed. 

Nikita turned around and pulled up her skirt, spreading her hands against the wall to arch her back. "See anything?" 

Michael's fingers traced along the smooth, bare curves. "Yes." 

"Burns?" 

Michael chuckled. "Is that what I'm looking for?" 

Nikita tapped her foot impatiently and craned her neck around. "I'm serious, Michael." 

"I think this needs a closer inspection," Michael murmured. There was a soft whisper as Michael crouched down, his warm breath on her skin causing Nikita to shiver. Michael's fingers brushed over the curves of her thighs, up over her buttocks and to her hips. He pressed several fluttering kisses to the unblemished skin and rose. "All clear, 'Kita." 

Nikita tugged her skirt down, eyes flashing. "I'd better return the favor, Michael." Her hands delved inside the tight waist of the leopard-skin pants, the pads of her fingers caressing his skin in search of injury. 

The phone rang. 

Nikita let out a frustrated burst of laughter. "And I thought Birkoff was bad!" 

Michael began backing towards the phone, taking Nikita with him, her hands still shoved down his pants. He reached back and plucked the phone of the cradle, bringing the receiver to his wickedly grinning lips. 

"Hello?" 

This is too much, Nikita mused to herself. The man can sound _so_ cool under pressure, but this takes the cake. A chocolate cake with a thick layer of creamy frosting... 

Nikita flexed her hands while Michael listened to the caller, his green eyes flaring at her. 

"It's for you, dear," Michael said, holding the phone out with one of the most innocent expressions that Nikita had ever seen. Nikita worked her hand up out of Michael's clinging pants, to his soft groan and her grumblings. She snatched the phone out of his hand and shot him a fulminating look. 

"Hello? Oh, hi Tracy. No, what news?" Nikita secured the phone between her chin and shoulder and attempted to free her other hand. Michael pulled her closer, which fouled her attempts. "Um, what was that, Tracy? A robbery! Three? You're joking." Nikita swatted at Michael when she finally dragged her other hand free. "No, you're not interrupting anything, Tracy. Michael's just being...uncooperative." 

"Am I?" he murmured in her other ear, outlining the shell with his warm tongue. 

"Michael," Nikita warned, teeth clenched. She shot him a quelling glance and returned to her conversation. "Sorry about that, Tracy. So, there's an emergency Neighborhood Watch meeting tomorrow? Good. No, of course we'll be there. Thanks. Yeah, talk to you later. Bye." 

Nikita replaced the phone and slid her arms around Michael's neck. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" 

"Me?" Michael asked, blinking his green-gray eyes. 

Nikita smiled up into his eyes and switched over to mission mode. "Tomorrow. Eighteen-hundred hours. Possible contact with target." 

"Understood." 

"Until then," Nikita purred, brushing her lips across Michael's. "I believe the lawn needs mowing, Michael." 

************ 

Nikita reclined on the porch in a wicker chair, a sweating glass of lemonade clutched in one hand. She lifted the glass to her forehead and ran the cool exterior over her flushed skin. Her eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses as she chafed her wrists on the glass, lips parting unconsciously as Michael made another pass with the lawn mower. 

He was wearing a ragged pair of cut-offs, slung low on his hips. Blades of grass clung to his broad, sweaty back and his flexing biceps. Nikita moaned under her breath as Michael turned, her eyes feasting on the pale strings that clung mid-thigh where the jeans ended. The way the soft, light blue material conformed to his muscled body, off-setting his glowing tan. 

The way all their female neighbors were inexplicably outside to do yard work and didn't seem to be accomplishing much -- other than producing a copious amount of drool. 

Michael brought the lawn mower up to the porch where Nikita sat and cut the motor. He lifted one strong arm and raked his fingers through his hair, lifting the sweaty curls from the back of his neck. He pushed his sunglasses down with a flick of his index finger and rested his elbows on the porch railing. Michael extended his hand and Nikita gave him her half-full glass of lemonade. His fingers closed around the glass; he turned it in his hands until he reached the damp spot where Nikita had been rubbing the glass against her neck. Michael bent his neck and licked and the outside of the glass. 

"Tastes like you," he murmured, slanting her a heated glance as he tipped his head back. Nikita licked her suddenly dry lips and watched his Adam's apple work as he swallowed the lemonade. Nikita's feet slid off the railing when Michael brushed the moisture from his lips with the back of his hand, tongue darting out to catch a drop of lemonade in the divot under his nose. 

"C'mere," Nikita said, holding out her unsteady hand. Michael slid his warm hand in hers, and Nikita stood, tugging him along as she stepped off the porch and headed for the back yard. Michael quickly caught up to her, his damp skin burning through the thin fabric of her sundress as he looped his arm around her back. Nikita halted in front of the canvas hammock. 

"Get in. Face down," she ordered. Michael obliged, kicking off his scruffy sneakers and climbing into the hammock, rolling onto his stomach with the agile grace of a cat. He crossed his arms and rested his head sideways on his forearms. Nikita kicked off her sandals and clambered into the hammock, sitting down on the backs of Michael's thighs. She tucked her legs along his and leaned forward, her strong hands kneading at the damp, flushed skin of his broad shoulders. 

Beneath her, Michael's chest rumbled in pleasure as she worked on a knot in his neck. Nikita massaged his entire back, the shoulders down to the small of his back. Nikita jokingly started chopping her hands along his back like she always saw on TV. 

"'Kita," Michael warned, his voice burred and punctuated by her hard chops with the sides of her hands. 

"Isn't this relaxing, Michael?" Nikita teased, sliding her palms over his shoulders and leaning forward to kiss the sweaty skin on the back of his neck. She licked her lips and craved more of the salty tang of Michael's skin, darting her tongue out to lick a circle onto his neck. 

"Nikita?" 

Nikita jerked her head up in the direction of the voice. Tracy stood at the hedge, wringing her hands and looking embarrassed. "What is it, Tracy?" 

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" she asked, crossing into Michael and Nikita's yard. 

"'Course not," Nikita said, levering herself into a sitting position again. A small frown appeared on her face, her hands idly caressing Michael's bare skin. "Something wrong?" 

"Well, yes and no," Tracy said, walking over to a walnut tree and digging at the bark with her fingernails. "George is finally putting in the new hot water heater that I've been begging him for since February." 

"That's good, isn't it?" Nikita asked. Absentmindedly, she traced Michael's backbone with her index finger while Tracy pulled more bark off the tree. 

"Men can be so stubborn!" Tracy blurted with asperity. She ripped a large chunk of bark off and flung it. "He's going to hurt himself, I just _know_ it!" 

Nikita could feel Michael stirring underneath her and caught his silent message. "If you're worried that he's going to do some damage trying to do it all himself, maybe I can help?" 

"What?" Tracy asked, blinking at Nikita owlishly. "I wouldn't ask that of -" 

"I meant," Nikita laughed, holding up her hand. "Can I offer you Michael's services?" 

Tracy practically wilted with relief. She tugged on her haphazard ponytail. "Would you?" 

Nikita grinned and gave Michael a light slap on the butt. "Do you mind my pimping you for a while, Michael?" Out of the corner of her eye, Nikita saw Tracy blush furiously. 

"Do I get a cut?" Michael murmured beneath her, his eyes closed. 

"Of course. I'll pay you in cookie currency," Nikita answered, letting out a tense breath when he responded to the joke. 

"What kind?" he asked, a little grin curving his soft lips. 

Nikita tapped her chin. "Peanut butter cookies with chocolate kisses," she decided. 

Michael's body heaved beneath her and they spilled out of the hammock; Michael caught her to his chest, landing neatly on his feet. "Deal." 

************ 

"Are you sure it's all right?" Tracy asked, following Nikita into the air-conditioned house. 

Nikita laughed and began banging the kitchen cupboards in search of ingredients. "Help me make these cookies, and we'll call it even." 

Tracy took the mixing bowl from Nikita's outstretched hand and hugged it to her chest. "Michael won't hurt himself, will he? I mean -" 

"Tracy," Nikita interrupted, resting her flushed cheek against an open cupboard. "Michael will be fine. He leads an..." Nikita paused, searching for an appropriate euphemism for what she and Michael _did_. "He leads an active life style. He knows his limits." 

Actually, the man _doesn't_ know his limits. But I can't tell Tracy that Michael routinely runs around with multiple bullet wounds, can I? Nikita said to herself. 

Tracy grinned suddenly, tucking back a strand of brown hair that had escaped from her ponytail. "I sort of noticed that Michael looks like he works out," she said. 

Oh, you have _no_ idea, Nikita thought to herself. Michael's got stamina like you wouldn't - 

Nikita abruptly jerked her mind away from thoughts of Michael's lean body lifting the hot water heater, his sweat-sheened muscles straining, his cinnamon curls sticking to his forehead. 

If I keep thinking along those lines, I'll burn the damn cookies, she told herself. 

* 

Michael rounded the corner of the house and saw George wrestling with the enormous hot water heater that sat on the back of a pickup truck. His T-shirt was already sweat-stained and he was ordering his sullen son around. 

"No, Tim, more to the left," George growled, a trickle of sweat sliding from beneath his graying hair. "Left!" 

Michael padded up to the truck silently and rested his forearms on the edge, disregarding the fact that the sun-heated metal was burning his skin and the bullet wound to his arm was itching under its innocuous Band-Aids. 

"Need a hand?" 

"Jesus!" George bellowed, nearly dropping the heater on his foot as he spun around and glared at Michael. "Are you trying to kill me?" 

Michael's lips quirked and he pulled down his sunglasses. "I think you can handle that on your own." 

George rolled his eyes and fisted his hands on his hips. "Don't tell me. My wife sent you over here." 

"No," Michael said. " _My_ wife did." 

"But it was Tracy's doing, wasn't it?" George snapped. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his forehead. 

"Actually," Michael said, sensing he was treading on slippery macho territory, "I think they wanted to get me out of the way to talk. They bribed me with cookies if I'd go away." 

"Really?" George asked, glancing at his son. Tim had collapsed on the lawn, his arm flung over his face to block out the sun. 

"Yes." 

"You wouldn't happen to have anything to do for the next few hours, would you?" he hedged. 

"No." Michael smiled and swung himself into the bed of the truck. "I'll lower, you catch." George jumped out of the truck and moved to stand behind the tail-gate, grasping the lower portion of the heater. 

"Careful," George called, waking up his son. 

"Wow," the teenager breathed, watching Michael's muscles bulge as they slowly lowered the heater to the asphalt of the driveway. "How much can you lift?" 

Michael blinked the sweat out of his eyes and stared thoughtfully at the young man. "Enough." 

They loaded the hot water heater onto a dolly and maneuvered it into the house. George banged a pipe into the doorway as they pushed it through the door, knocking a chip of wood loose. George cursed when Michael asked if he had any carpenter's glue and they rolled the dolly to the stairs leading into the basement. 

"It's times like these that I wish we'd put in an elevator," George grumbled, taking the bottom and backing down the stairs. 

A little more than half-way down the steps, Michael heart a faint protest of over-stressed metal. He automatically braced his legs and clamped his hands tighter on the dolly's handles. 

"Get out of the way," he ground out, just as the dolly began to come apart. 

"Hell if I will!" George shouted back. 

************ 

"I think they're done," Nikita announced, pulling the oven door open wider and plucking a hot pad from the counter. She pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven and held them up for Tracy's inspection. 

"Okay," Tracy shrugged, craning her neck to see out the kitchen window behind the sink. 

Nikita put the cookie sheet on hot pads to cool down and gave Tracy a measuring glance. "I think I might dye my hair red. You know, just to see how it looks." 

"That's nice," Tracy answered, standing up on her tip toes and pressing her nose against the glass. 

"I also wondered if you wanted to join in a threesome with me and Michael, 'cause your husband is gonna be tired after all that lifting." 

"Sure." 

Nikita's hand closed over Tracy's shoulder. "Please don't tell me you let your children ask you for things when you're like this?" 

"What?" Tracy asked, turning away from the window and the disappearing light. She frowned and struggled to remember the conversation of the past few minutes. 

"So what do you think?" Nikita asked, noting by Tracy's blush that the older woman certainly remembered what she had been asked. 

"Cookies are done," Tracy said. "You should put the last batch in. Don't dye your hair; blondes have more fun, right?" Tracy nibbled on a hangnail, her eyes darting back to the window and her house. "And, um, don't you need to ask Michael first?" 

Nikita didn't answer the question. She padded to the hallway and flung open the back door. Michael had just reached the steps, face tired and hair tousled; he had skirted around the other side of the house, invisible from the kitchen window. 

"Michael," Nikita greeted, waving him inside with a quick kiss to his sweaty, stubbled cheek. He kicked off his shoes and followed her into the kitchen. In the better light, Nikita noticed that he had a bundle of paper towels clutched in each hand, and he seemed to have a few small scratches on his chest and arms. 

"Good news," Michael said upon seeing Tracy. "You have hot water now. The bad news is that there was an accident. George may have broken a few toes." 

Tracy's face had gone white at the thought of an accident. "Oh, thank God, he's alright?" 

"Yes." 

"Thank you, Michael," Tracy said, flinging her arms around his bare shoulders and giving him a quick hug. 

Nikita showed Tracy out and paced back into the kitchen. "Show me your hands." Michael let the bloody paper towels fall onto the kitchen counter. "Oh, Michael," she hissed, taking his scraped palms into her hands. "Tell me what really happened." 

"The dolly came apart when we were on the stairs," Michael grunted as Nikita took his hands and ran a stream of cold water over the raw skin. "It wasn't an accident, Nikita." 

"What?" 

Michael gave her a long look, his thick lashes lowering over his green eyes. "I was an anomaly. George was supposed to be lowering the heater down the stairs with his son. It was meant to fall on him." 

"You mean -" Nikita said, her voice faltering and going flat. "It was supposed to be another accident. George was supposed to die." Cold water sluiced over both their hands, forgotten in the realization that they were still on a mission. 

"Yes." 

"George works for the Agency as an analyst," Nikita recalled slowly. 

"He was next on Nelson's list." 

************ 

Nikita daubed at Michael's raw palms with a fresh paper towel and suppressed a deep sigh. If Nelson was on the move again, then meeting him tomorrow was that much more important. They needed to get invited into Nelson's house _and_ his organization before he arranged another _accident_ for George. 

"Here, have a cookie," Nikita said, stuffing a peanut butter cookie between Michael's lips as she probed the cuts. His eyes widened at the invasion before his jaw worked to chew the cookie. Nikita leaned in and ran her tongue along his lips to catch the golden crumbs, tasting the mixture of musk and sugary peanut butter. 

"We need to advance the timeline," Michael murmured as she reluctantly turned her attention to the smaller scratches on his forearms and abdomen. 

Nikita tossed the bloodied towels into the garbage. "We'll work on the profile tomorrow," Nikita answered, stepping back and tugging Michael to the stairs. " _You_ need to get cleaned up." 

Michael allowed himself to be pulled up the stairs after glancing down at himself. His skin was covered with drying sweat, grass clippings, grease and blood. "'Kita, how -" he broke off, spreading his bloody palms and cocking his curly head. 

"Get in the tub. I'll wash," Nikita explained, bending over the edge and twisting the taps. She brushed his hands aside as they went to the snap of his cut-offs and tugged the damp material down his sleek hips. Nikita lightly nuzzled Michael's thighs with her lips as she drew herself upright. 

"You're overdressed," Michael murmured. He stepped closer and ran the back of his hand down Nikita's tanned arm. 

"You're dirty," Nikita quipped, slipping her arms around his lean waist and pulling him back towards the tub. She bit her lip as Michael stiffly lowered himself into the hot water, lids drooping as he reclined and pressed his head against the tiled wall. 

I'll just bet he pulled a few muscles, Nikita groused silently. 

Nikita settled her hip on the lip of the tub and leaned over Michael's body to grab the soap and sponge. She paused when she felt Michael's eyes on her and grinned down at his heavy-lidded gaze. "Penny for your thoughts," Nikita said, leaning in farther to scrub Michael's chest. At his lazy half-grin, Nikita tweaked his nose with the sponge. "I'll bet you've got just one thing on your mind..." 

"I was wondering if I get compensation for an on-the-job injury." Michael held up his hands out of the water, sloshing the skirt of Nikita's dress. 

She pursed her lips and regarded her wet skirt with narrowed eyes. "Michael..." Nikita began, then thought better of it and stood up. She shucked her dress off and had one toe in the still steaming water when she smelled smoke. "The cookies!" 

************ 

Nikita bit her lip as she wrestled the smoking cookie sheet onto the counter. The crisped and shriveled masses that formerly were cookies assaulted her nose with a charcoal stench. Had she waited another minute, she and Michael might have met the firemen from the local fire department. Nikita sighed and picked up the pan, preparing to douse the smoking heaps in the sink. 

I wonder if the firemen around here have thighs like Michael, Nikita thought, snatching a spatula. 

"Don't." 

Nikita whirled to see Michael leaning against the counter with a white towel slung low around his hips. Rivulets of water flowed down his broad chest and muscled legs, onto the linoleum. "Michael, it's going to set the fire alarm off." 

Michael plucked one of the undamaged cookies from the counter and gestured with it. "If you put the baking sheet under cold water, it will warp the metal." He took a bite out of the peanut butter confection, idly dusting the crumbs from his gleaming chest. 

"What should I do, then?" Nikita stamped her bare foot in frustration. Michael didn't answer right away, his eyes focused on the rest of Nikita's bare body. 

"Leave them," he advised, flicking his heated gaze up to meet her eyes. 

"Fine," Nikita decided, abruptly dropping the tray. She crossed the floor in two long strides and pressed herself to Michael's length. "How's this?" 

"Better," Michael murmured, levering himself away from the counter. "But you're not wet." His fingers trailed down her arms. 

"Not yet," Nikita agreed, allowing Michael to turn her around and back her to the stairs. 

"Ignore it," Michael ordered softly when the doorbell rang just as Nikita ascended the first step. 

"But it might be important," Nikita whispered. "You get the door, I'll get wet." She turned and bounded up the stairs. Nikita heard him mutter something about "cruel and unusual punishment" as she waved from the top of the stairs and ducked into the bathroom. 

Michael's wet feet slapped on the linoleum as he made his way to the front door. He checked the windows; when no one appeared to be there, Michael slipped immediately into mission mode and cautiously cracked open the door. 

A little girl stood on the porch in a green uniform, an order form clutched in her hands. A woman, presumably her mother, stood just behind her looking harried. 

"Yes?" Michael said, swinging the door open a bit wider. 

The little girl immediately swung into her memorized speech. "I'm in the Girl Scout Troop number 873 Glowing Embers. We're selling cookies for -" the girl broke off and craned her neck around. "Mommy, he's naked." 

"Yes, dear," her mother replied vaguely. Her daughter nudged her sharply and broke her wide-eyed stare. She placed her hand on her daughter's braided hair and turned back to Michael. "I'm sorry, is this a bad time?" Michael blinked as the mother went on. "Stacy absolutely insisted she had to get out and sell more cookies before her next Girl Scout meeting. Oh, hello." 

Nikita wormed her way under Michael's muscled and still-damp arm, bundled in her terry-cloth robe. "Hi," she said cheerfully. "Are you selling cookies?" 

"Yes," the girl answered. She turned around and smiled up at her mother. "Mommy, she's pretty." 

"Let me see," Nikita said, taking the order form. "We'd like a box of Thin Mints. And those peanut butter and chocolate ones. Do you have the lemon kind?" 

"Nikita," Michael said. He lowered his gaze to her lips. 

"Are you French?" Stacy interjected. "Germ apple Stacy." 

"Enchante', Mademoiselle Stacy," Michael answered, tearing his eyes away from Nikita's face to give the little girl a crooked grin for her attempt at speaking French. Her mother seemed to be frozen to the spot. 

Nikita cleared her throat and handed the order form back to the grinning girl. "On second thought, would you mind coming back tomorrow?" 

************ 

Nikita nudged the door shut with her hip. "Do you realize that we're going to have the entire Girl Scout Troop and their mothers here tomorrow?" 

"Why?" Michael asked, entwining their fingers and pulling her towards the stairs with a determined look on his face. 

"To see if you're still wearing the towel," Nikita answered, following Michael up the stairs and savoring the view. 

"I don't think so, Nikita," he said, letting the towel slide to the floor. He gave a small sigh as he lowered himself into the warm water. 

Nikita stripped off her robe and joined him in the tub, pulling herself forward between his splayed thighs. "I'll bet you a box of Samoas that we're going to be buying _a lot_ of Girl Scout cookies tomorrow." 

"I thought you were going to give me a bath," Michael murmured, grasping her waist and fitting their hips together. 

"You're changing the subject," Nikita said, reaching for the soap and sponge. She began lathering Michael's damp skin, gliding the sponge over his smooth muscles. 

"You don't mind." 

"You're right." Nikita scrubbed at his skin for a moment, pressing her breasts against his soapy skin to reach his broad back. "Michael," she said lightly. "Did you remember to tip the maid?" 

He growled at the question, fingers dancing up her spine. He buried his hands in her loose hair. "Yes." Michael flicked his tongue out and teased her sensitive neck. 

"Michael?" 

"What?" 

"Do you want me to wash your hair?" Nikita suppressed a giggle as Michael's eyes darkened in irritation and arousal. Her questions were wearing on his patience. 

Your fault, Michael. You're so _cute_ when you're mad, she thought. 

"Later," he grunted, capturing her lips. His tongue delved into her mouth, lapping at the silken walls. Nikita moaned in response and wiggled closer, the sponge dropping from her distracted fingers. Michael opened his mouth wider and slanted his lips over hers as he felt her draw in a breath. 

"Michael?" she asked again as he paused for air. His green eyes flared and he ran his fingers down from the nape of her neck, over the shivering skin of her back. "Do you -" Nikita broke off as his hands flexed on her buttocks. He simultaneously suckled her lower lip and lowered her down onto his arousal. Michael nibbled at her mouth, slowly penetrating her with his swollen length. When their hips were nestled together, Michael's lips curved into a small smile. 

"'Kita?" 

"Huh?" Nikita opened her eyes, staring straight into Michael's amused green gaze. 

"What kind of cookies do you like?" 

"What?" Nikita impatiently gyrated her hips as Michael turned the tables on her. Michael's lips twitched; Nikita was wedged against him in the tub and couldn't move much without his help. He slipped his hand between their bodies and softly caressed her clit. Nikita gave a strangled cry and her hips jerked forward towards his hand. Michael's hands cupped her buttocks again, water slapping gently against the walls of the tub as he began to thrust into her. Nikita leaned in for a hot, possessive kiss, whimpering as his tongue mimicked the actions of his hard arousal. Dipping, licking, tasting. Mouths open, seeking, teasing. 

"Michael?" she asked breathlessly, running her fingernails down his damp chest. Her hips rocked forward rhythmically as Michael lifted her, his length sliding into her and causing an increasingly more delicious ache. 

"Yes, 'Kita?" 

"Forget the cookies." 

************ 

Nikita hummed to herself idly as she cleaned the abrasions on Michael's hands with antiseptic. She stood between his powerful thighs, dabbing at the friction burns and the angry, red scrapes on his palms. The fingers on his free hand trailed up and down the back of her thigh, slipping under the hem of her oversized T-shirt to press her closer. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the damp bath towel twisted around his waist. 

"Switch," Nikita ordered. Michael slipped his bandaged hand from her fingers and it burrowed up her T-shirt to caress her hip. Without so much as a flicker of an eyelid, he presented his untreated hand for her doctoring. Piqued, Nikita leaned forward and licked a droplet of water at his eyebrow that had spilled from Michael's hairline. A low sound rumbled in his chest, but he didn't halt the explorations of his bandaged hand. 

"All done," Nikita proclaimed, bringing up his hand to brush a bit of undamaged skin against her lips. She stepped back so that Michael could stand, and caught the expression that shadowed his face as he pulled himself to his feet. His rippling muscles all seemed to work smoothly, but that didn't explain the small catch in Michael's breath. Nikita led the way into their bedroom, stepping off to the side at the last moment. 

"You know the drill, Michael. Get in, face down," she said, pointing one peremptory finger at the big bed. She caught the smallest of grins on Michael's face as he complied, rolling himself onto the bed and settling onto his flat stomach. Nikita clambered onto the bed after him, fitting her thighs to his waist and settling down atop the taut curve of Michael's butt. 

He grunted as she began kneading his muscles with her powerful hands, working at the hot knots of muscles in his neck and broad shoulders. Nikita worked at the taut muscles down each arm, pausing to feather a kiss in the dip under his chin before continuing past his shoulder blades. Nikita enjoyed the work, the steady rhythm of her fingers over Michael's warm and silky skin. His soft sounds of pleasure as she worked out a particularly nasty knot, Michael's powerful body sprawled beneath her. The constant rocking motion of her groin against Michael's hard curves continuously distracted her, but Nikita was determined to finish being Michael's nurse before she would follow up on her own desires. 

Nikita edged down Michael's body, massaging his thighs below the towel, and then his angular calves. By the time she reached his feet, Nikita had decided not to tickle him there. She had other things in mind. 

"What are you doing?" came Michael's muffled voice as Nikita slipped off the bed. She chuckled and slid her hands under his shoulder and hip, flipping him over onto his back. Nikita clambered on top of him, and held Michael's arms above his head by his undamaged wrists. 

"I'm taking advantage of you," Nikita replied finally. 

Nikita leaned in for a kiss, hovering her mouth above Michael's sculpted lips and flicking out her tongue. She traced the outline of his lips, and then their tongues met and tasted, mouths open and untouching. Nikita rocked forward on her knees and brought them into full contact, Michael's velvet tongue slipping between her lips to stroke at the inner depths of her mouth. One hand abandoned her hold above his head to slip down and loosen the towel. Michael's hips pressed upward, following Nikita as she pulled away slightly and tugged the towel out from underneath him. 

"There are some conditions," Nikita breathed, rubbing her lips over the stubble on his jaw. 

"What are they?" he murmured, waiting beneath her, a momentarily tamed panther. 

"Can't use your hands," Nikita drawled, flicking a finger over the newly applied bandages. 

A moment passed before Michael folded his hands behind his neck. "Agreed." 

"And you let me do all the work," she added, eyes glinting mischievously. She danced her core over his burgeoning arousal, delighting in both of their reactions. "I don't want you to pull a groin muscle, Michael." 

"Just do it, Ni-ki-ta," was his thickly accented reply. 

She reacted immediately, arms crossing in front of her to pull her T-shirt over her head in one smooth motion. Nikita lowered herself onto his chest, pressing kisses to his strong neck and rubbing her breasts across his chest. She could feel his immediate response as Michael's arousal thickened and pressed more insistently high on the inside of her thigh. 

Nikita licked and bit at Michael's lips as if they were cotton candy, lowering herself down onto his length with the same intense deliberation. Her thighs muscles tensed and flexed, knees digging into the mattress and she slid herself up and down his arousal. Nikita's hands were everywhere, skating over his ridged abdomen and tracing the contours of his muscles. She arched over him, licking her lips as she caught his darkened eyes staring up at her from his prone position on the bed. 

His gaze lowered from her face to her softly bobbing breasts and his lush lips parted in a sigh of want. As Nikita continued to thrust herself down on him, Michael's gaze grew wilder, pupils dilating until there was a thin line of gray-green visible. She began to feel a delicious heat coiling in her abdomen and Nikita began to thrust harder, gyrating her hips over Michael's length to fill her aching need of him. 

The wildness flared in Michael's eyes, and he could lay still no longer. His abdomen contracted suddenly and he sat up, cords standing out in his neck as his hands remained locked behind his head. He thrust into her, back bowing so that his mouth could dance over her high breasts. Michael's hot tongue laved her nipple, teasing her by taking her entire breast into the velvety interior of his mouth. 

Nikita's fingernails dug into his scalp, the other hand splayed across his lower back. She arched over him twice more before the coiled heat unfurled and turned her vision to black. 

************ 

Nikita wiggled deeper into the couch cushion, sliding her feet along Michael's thigh under his scruffy blue robe. She hid her contented smile behind the morning paper and scanned the Metro section, soothed by the gentle clack of Michael typing at the keyboard on his laptop, momentarily broken as he sipped at his coffee. "It's your turn, Michael," Nikita chirped at the chime of the doorbell. She giggled into the newspaper as Michael swung his feet off the couch and levered himself from it with a soft intake of breath. His bare feet padded across the room and into the foyer. Nikita snuggled deeper, conforming a pillow to her shoulders as she heard murmured voices in the hall, a high, piping voice of a child reciting a familiar speech. A few minutes later, the door clicked shut and Michael padded back into the room. 

"What kind?" 

Michael sat heavily on the couch and drew his computer back into his lap. "Tagalongs." 

"The chocolate and peanut butter?" 

"Yes." 

Nikita remained silent, sipping at her tea and determined to not rub it in until much later. Ten minutes clicked past, and the doorbell rang again. "My turn!" Nikita vaulted from the couch cheerfully and raced for the door. 

"What kind?" Michael murmured, tapping in a long sequence on the keyboard. 

"Thin Mints. You can never have too many." 

"Yes," Michael said deliberately. "You can." 

"Told you so." 

"Nikita?" 

"Yes, Michael?" 

"Be quiet." 

Nikita smiled to herself and buried her feet under Michael's thighs, picking up another section of newspaper. She idly scanned the Entertainment section, waiting for Michael to reconfigure the profile set for their meeting with Nelson. 

"Come here, 'Kita." 

Nikita threw the newspaper onto the carpet and it slithered haphazardly across the floor. She crawled into the spot between Michael and the couch cushions, comfortably smashed against his warm body. Nikita propped her head in the crook of Michael's neck and peered at the computer screen, full of text and windows. 

"Birkoff compiled a rough list of people who will be in attendance," Michael said, calling up the appropriate window. 

"Volatile combination," Nikita muttered, absentmindedly drawing patterns on Michael's chest through his gapping robe. Michael had just taken a soft breath to reply when the doorbell rang again. 

"Your turn," Nikita breathed, taking a playful nip at his ear. 

"Study it," Michael said, rolling off the couch and shoving the computer into her hands; her laughter followed his prowl towards the front door. 

************ 

"This looks like the place," Nikita announced, pressing her forehead against the passenger side window of their car. The parking lot of the low, brick building that served as the town hall was filled to overflowing with vehicles. Michael edged their sedan into an empty spot on the opposite side of the street. He skirted the hood of the car and opened Nikita's door for her, giving her time to double-check the contents of her purse. 

She had a few items from Walter's area in case they convinced Nelson to invite them into his home. Nikita closed the clasp of her purse on the assorted transmitters and surveillance equipment, to be planted somewhere in Martin Nelson's home. 

"Ready?" 

Nikita smiled and hefted the strap of her purse over her shoulder, hands moving down to tug at the skirt of her sundress. "Yeah. Let's go." 

Michael slipped his arm around her waist as they crossed the busy street. Nikita's hand tightened on Michael's arm as they navigated their way through the musty building and into the crowded conference room. 

"Visual on target," Michael murmured in her ear, steering her towards Tracy, who was waving at them. She had her leg slung across two empty seats and was turning her head to tell someone that she was saving the chairs when Nikita and Michael arrived at her side. 

"Hi," Tracy greeted, dusting off the seats. 

"Where's George?" Michael asked, taking the chair closest to the aisle and the target. 

"He's to stay off his foot. Doctor's orders," Tracy said crisply, giving a quick nod with her head. 

"You'll have to let him up sometime,"Nikita laughed, surreptitiously scanning the room. "Men are horrible patients. Pretty soon, he'll start chewing on the furniture." 

Tracy slanted Nikita a wicked smile. "You sound like you're talking from experience." 

"Yeah, maybe I am." Nikita ducked her head and gave Michael a sidelong stare. Her lips quirked up as he stared back and lightly shrugged his shoulders. She knew what that meant; Nikita didn't like Medlab, either. The less time there, the better. 

Michael slid his gaze away and Nikita followed his eyes to where the target was located. At first, Nikita could only see the back of his salt-and-pepper head, back stiff in the uncomfortable chair. He seemed to be wearing a navy suit, despite the heat. Finally, Nelson turned his head to speak to the person sitting next to him and Nikita readily identified him from the dossier Birkoff had compiled. 

Nikita gave Michael's denim-clad knee a squeeze to indicate she had a visual just as a short, pixie-haired woman stepped up to the front of the room and called the meeting to order. She slipped on a pair of half-glasses and began briefing the room on the three burglaries from Friday. 

"You know," Nikita whispered to Tracy, inclining her upper body forward. "I've never been to one of these before. What's supposed to happen?" 

"Beats me," Tracy whispered back. "No one really wants the responsibility, so a different person conducts the meeting every time." 

Nikita chewed on her lower lip at the information, glancing at Michael to see if he overheard. He gave her a quick nod before his gray-green eyes were drawn to the front of the room. 

************ 

"I want to know what the hell's going to be done about this," Amy Muldoon called, pushing her way to the front of the room. She planted one artfully polished fingernail on the butt of her cigarette and ashed on the carpet. 

"Amy," the pixie-haired woman sighed, pulling off her glasses. "This is technically a government facility. You know you can't smoke in here." 

"How can you say that to me, Diane?" Amy demanded, fisting her hand at her waist and gesturing with the cigarette. "My home was _violated_. Some...some... _criminal_ went through my personal items! I had to get an emergency refill on my Valium!" 

"I suggest you let the proper authorities handle it," a clipped, authoritative voice said. The advice was met with a murmur of assent. When Amy Muldoon whirled to confront the speaker, it became apparent that the comment had originated from the target. Nelson turned in his seat to reveal his ascetic profile; his shoulders moved like he was folding his hands in his lap. 

"What am I supposed to do until they catch the bastard who did this?" Amy snapped. 

"Invest in a better security system," Nelson replied. His tone made him sound like the epitome of upper-level management: crisp, gently patronizing, and mercenary. "Perhaps you ought to purchase a watch dog, as the Neighborhood Watch apparently failed." Nelson gave an aristocratic sniff before continuing. "Of course, I wouldn't advise that you acquire a particularly vicious dog, as there are young children in the neighborhood who might be mauled." 

"Oh, he's good," Nikita breathed in Michael's right ear, resting her temple against his jaw. Michael had draped his arm on the back of her chair and he squeezed her shoulder in assent. 

Nikita turned her attention away from the front as Amy Muldoon huffed back to her seat. "Tracy, that man who was giving the barracuda hell, who is he? I don't think I've seen him before." 

Tracy lifted her chin and sat up high in her chair. "Oh, him? His name's Martin Nelson. I guess he's a high muckety-muck in the CIA. I only know because he's in the same branch as George." Tracy paused to roll her eyes suggestively at Nikita. "Mr. Nelson's a real stiff character. He doesn't socialize much." 

Stiff character? Nikita said inwardly. Try a pervert in executive's clothing. 

Nikita felt the pressure of Michael's hand on her shoulder again and glanced at his face. Michael flicked his gray-green eyes down to his thigh with a whisper of a smile. Nikita swallowed a giggle and stilled her hand; she had been absently massaging his thigh and her hand had risen precariously high along the strong length of his muscle. 

I believe what you're looking for is focus, Nikita, she told herself. I'm glad this isn't a hot mission. I can't even imagine what Operations would say if I lost my concentration in the field because I was busy fondling Michael. 

No, Nikita realized. I _can_ imagine Operations having an apopleptic fit. 

The pixie-haired woman named Diane wrapped up the meeting with warnings to take extra precautions with security, and to engage a house sitter if going out of town. Nikita stood and took Michael's hand, waving good bye to Tracy over her shoulder as she led the way to the target through the milling crowd. 

************ 

"I don't believe we've met." 

Nikita stuck out her hand towards Martin Nelson, lips curved in a winning smile as Michael took up a spot behind her left shoulder. The target looked them over, a tiny burst of recognition flaring in his dark eyes. His thin lips curved slightly in an answering smile that sent shivers of disgust through Nikita's nerve endings. She fought for control of her reaction to the man; everything in his stiff demeanor had shifted at his recognition. 

"Nikita and I thought we knew all our neighbors," Michael said behind her. 

Nelson's eyes widened slightly, taking in Michael's lean body behind her. He extended his hand finally, his palm smooth and dry as he shook Nikita's proffered hand. Nikita observed him as Michael took a turn greeting the man. 

He looks like he wants to take us home and devour us, Nikita realized with a flash of insight to his smile. He _really_ likes what he's been seeing through that camera on our bedroom. 

"It's a pleasure," Nelson finally said, enunciating the last word. "My name is Martin Nelson. I believe we live in the same area." 

"Michael and I moved here a few weeks ago," Nikita continued brightly. She hoped nothing of what she felt for the man had leaked into her face. 

"It's such a shame," Nelson replied, his clipped accent warming almost imperceptibly. 

"Excuse me?" Nikita said, blinking rapidly. 

"I never brought you a housewarming gift," he continued smoothly. "How rude of me." 

Nikita forced herself to laugh at his joke, linking her arm with Michael and glancing at his smiling face. "It's really not necessary." 

"How can I make up for such a slight?" Nelson said. His lips curved into a welcoming smile that was tinged with something vaguely dirty. 

"Do you have any coffee? We just ran out and Michael's dying for his caffeine fix," Nikita found herself saying. 

The profile, Nikita. Good. Follow the profile. 

Nelson tilted his head back in a dry laugh. "Of course. Anything for my new...neighbors." 

************ 

Nikita perched next to Michael on Martin Nelson's gorgeous but highly uncomfortable couch in the target's dim living room. Her skin felt slightly soft and damp from the humidity in the air. Nelson obviously did not believe in air conditioning. 

He must be literally cold-blooded, Nikita thought. Her lips curved in a smile as Michael lightly chuckled at something Nelson was saying. Yuck. Nelson probably knows what color underwear I'm wearing. And that it's unusual that I'm actually _wearing_ underwear with Michael home. 

Nikita was distracted from her thoughts as Nelson rose and brushed his smooth palms down his slacks. She tilted her head back to keep him in her line of sight. 

"I believe the coffee should be done by now," he announced. "I'll be right back." 

Michael swung his pale green gaze to her as Nelson's stiff shoulders disappeared around the corner and into the kitchen area. Nikita slipped a tiny bug into his palm with practiced ease and rose from the couch. Michael leaned towards the kitchen, expertly placing the bug near the phone on the coffee table. 

"Martin?" Michael called. 

Nikita shivered. The way Michael pronounced the target's name, Nelson would have them coupling together in his den with a video camera and a blue party light. 

"Yes, Michael?" Nelson's voice was muffled from the kitchen. Nikita could hear the slosh of coffee being poured into mugs. 

"I was wondering where your bathroom was," Nikita inserted, feeling ridiculous at having Michael inquire where the potty room was in her stead. 

"It's down the hall. Last door on the right," Nelson answered. 

"Thanks! I'll just be a minute." 

Nikita hustled down the hall, scanning rapidly. She spotted the door to Nelson's home office, ducking into it quickly. No cameras were mounted in plain sight, but Nikita doubted that the room was clean. She had to be convincing. 

She stumbled against the desk as if on accident, feeling around in the dark. Her hand collided with the phone, papers, a desk blotter. Nikita planted the nearly invisible bugs, her heart pounding slightly from the adrenaline pumping through her veins. 

"Oops," she said airily. "I think I went in the wrong room." 

Nikita backed out of the room, shaking her head and chuckling to herself as she entered the right room. Nikita reapplied her lipstick and fluffed her hair, flushing the toilet for good measure before leaving its small confines. 

She re-entered the living room and nearly tripped over the rug. Nelson was leaning forward in his wing-backed chair with one smooth hand on Michael's jean-clad thigh. Michael's lean hands were wrapped around his coffee mug and he had his head cocked in a listening pose. 

"Ah, Nikita," Nelson said, smiling so expansively that Nikita wondered if his ascetic face could recover from the strain. He rose and waved Nikita back to the couch. 

She perched next to Michael and placed a proprietary hand on his forearm. "What did I miss?" 

Michael's head turned slightly and he angled her an unreadable glance. Nikita felt her muscles burn and slowly tense in preparation. 

Oh, this is _not_ going to be good, she thought. 

Nelson cleared his throat and lowered himself back onto his chair. "I was just telling your husband about a proposition I have for you two." 

************ 

The muscles under Nikita's skin jigged sideways, actually crawling _away_ from the target. 

Proposition? Talk about a loaded word, Nikita groused. I wonder how inventive he'll be -- and whether or not Michael will refuse him. If Michael knows what's good for him, he'd _better_ refuse. 

There was a world of difference between making love with Michael on her own terms while being distantly surveilled, and performing the same acts in front of a live audience. Nikita could do the former; she had done so willfully, albeit reluctantly. It was something she could reconcile her morals with, and it was a way to be with Michael without garnering too much suspicion from the heads of Section One. 

Nikita also knew that Michael could arouse her to such a pitch that she would become oblivious to Nelson's presence. But she would hate herself afterwards. 

"What kind of proposition?" Michael asked, letting a hint of wariness creep into his mellifluous tone. 

Nelson chuckled and took his hand from Michael's thigh to thread his fingers together between his knees. "I know you aren't who you pretend to be." 

Don't let your eyebrows hit your hairline, Nikita told herself. Play the good little nymphomaniac housewife...that had to leave her gun at home because she couldn't conceal it under her sundress. 

"Who are we?" Michael said, once again fielding Nelson's statements. His muscles had relaxed, his face carefully blank. Nikita knew from experience that Michael, on his most calm and polite behavior, was also at his most dangerous. Nikita rubbed her fingers over the skin on Michael's forearm, taking comfort in his competence. 

And if Michael doesn't kick Nelson's a-- when all is said and done, _I_ will. 

"Come now, Michael," Nelson murmured, scooting closer so that his right knee bumped Michael's left. "Don't be coy." 

If he touches Michael one more time, I'm going to smother him with this ugly couch cushion, Nikita growled to herself. The only problem is, I think Nelson would _enjoy_ it. 

Nikita tore her eyes from the juxtaposition of their legs, swallowing a snarl. "Listen," she hedged. "We really don't know what you mean." 

"Oh, I think you do," Nelson demurred, smiling at her barely concealed hostility. "You both do...freelance work, is that how you call it?" 

"Occasionally, we work on independent projects outside of the supervision of our major employers," Michael said carefully. "What is it that you would like to know?" 

"Shall I get to the point?" Nelson asked after a moment, tapping one blunt finger against his lips. "We often work for the same, shall I say, employer?" 

"Not good enough," Michael answered. 

Nelson nodded and patted Michael on the knee again. Michael shifted his weight towards Nikita and slanted her a quelling gaze. 

Michael, you ruin all my fun, she thought, leaning back from the beginnings of a lunge. 

"Red Fist. There, is that plain enough for you both?" 

"Better," Michael said, his expression implacable. 

"They have been very impressed with your work thus far. I believe my -- our -- employers might favor a more permanent arrangement." 

************ 

"Terms?" came Michael's silky voice. Nikita dug into her purse and came up with their PDA, poised to enter the information while slanting Nelson a frigid glance with her blue eyes. She scooted over on the couch, the tweed fabric scraping at the backs of her thighs. 

"Certain people would like to have you under a continuous contract," Nelson said, folding his hands onto his lap. "Salaries and benefits would be negotiated at a later date. I assure you," Nelson smiled, "They will be more than generous. It's very difficult to find good help, even more so with help as talented as you two." 

"In other words, you aren't allowed to give out concrete numbers," Nikita said, punching a few notes into the PDA while peering at Nelson's ascetic face. 

"Something like that, yes." 

"We do not accept long-term assignments from people we have not met," Michael replied, leaning back into the sofa with a cat-like stretch of his lower back. "That is in our contract." He lifted his arms and placed them along the back and armrest of the couch. His T-shirt rode up slightly, revealing a tan band of muscled abdomen above snug jeans. 

Michael, if Nelson were a woman, you'd be dead meat right now, Nikita thought. 

"Certainly you must know that isn't possible at this juncture?" The words spilled out of Nelson's thin lips, his eyes and mind distracted by Michael's sensual movement on the couch cushions. 

"Then how do we make it possible?" Nikita interjected, finally calming her temper enough to speak. 

Eyes off, bucko. Michael's _mine_ , Nikita thought. He's too much man for you, Nelson. 

Nelson regarded them both for a moment, his dark eyes flicking back and forth between their bodies in a rapid-fire perusal. "You would need to perform another favor for them, something a little more...involved. More complex, if you understand my meaning." 

"Oh, we understand," Nikita said, lifting her chin in a defiant gesture. Michael's thigh shifted against hers in warning, but Nikita continued, hoping to bait Nelson's attentions away to give Michael a reprieve. 

"There's a man, an untrustworthy man, that has too much information about Red Fist and its internal workings." 

"Isn't there always?" Nikita smirked, punching another few buttons. When she looked up from the small device, Nelson's lined face had gone flinty. 

"Find out what he knows and dispose of him." 

"Target, time frame, and preferred method of disposal," Michael said softly, lowering his curly head onto the cradle of his shoulder. 

Nelson paused a beat, lips parted at the sensual picture Michael made on the couch. He breathed in, dark eyes blinking as he regained his composure. "The target is someone you are already familiar with, a man who goes by the name of Lucas." 

************ 

"I don't know about this, Michael," Nikita said under her breath. Michael spread his palm along the small of her back and twirled her in time with the music. "I mean, Lucas is a cretin, but..." 

Michael fixed his beryl gaze on her as she trailed off, face half-illuminated by the strobe lights in the club. 

Yeah, stare at me like that for a while, Michael, Nikita thought. That'll take my mind off _anything_. 

"Would it make it any easier for you if I told you Lucas has some...unsavory habits?" 

Nikita's fingers tangled in the curls at the nape of Michael's neck and she leaned in to glare mulishly into his eyes. "What do you know, Michael?" 

"Nikita," he sighed softly, settling her more firmly against his hips as they turned on the dance floor. 

"Tell me. What did he do?" 

"Child pornography." 

"Kiddie porn?" Nikita snapped, her eyes blazing. 

Michael looked away and performed a cursory check of the exits. "Yes." 

Nikita buried her face in the crook of Michael's neck, one arm tightly wrapped around his shoulder. Kiddie porn. Nikita never would have suspected Lucas of that, despite his nasty habit of snorting chemicals. It would have taken a lot of digging to discover that information about such an unimportant go-between like -- 

Nikita raised her head and brushed a kiss along Michael's jaw, snuggling closer to him. "Thank you," she whispered. Michael gently rubbed her lower back. 

Michael had searched Lucas' background, knowing she wouldn't be able to go through with the hit if he was an innocent. Nikita had a special vendetta against panderers of kiddie porn. Her mother, drunk and high on some substance so new it didn't have a name, had almost sold her to a greasy man for that purpose. Nikita had begged and pleaded with her mother until a spark of intelligence had reappeared in her eyes. It had never happened again, but it was after that incident that Nikita realized being scraggly and dirty had its advantages. 

"So...do you think he'll go for it?" Nikita murmured, breaking the long silence. 

She felt Michael's chest rumble slightly in a chuckle. "Madeline thinks so." 

"I'm not so sure. I think you intimidate him," Nikita countered. 

"And you don't?" 

"Some day, Michael," Nikita said, hugging him closer. "I'm going to have a chat with Madeline and her unhealthy obsession with sex as the ultimate bait." 

Michael didn't answer. He didn't have to; Nikita knew that offering himself up on a plate, along with her, to Lucas would not go down easy. 

At least we won't actually have to _do_ anything with that sniveling pedophile. 

************ 

"Hey, if it isn't the dynamic duo!" 

Nikita half-turned in Michael's arms only to come face to face with their intended target. Lucas stood there at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes slightly unfocused. He gave Nikita a wobbly grin and sniffled. 

Nikita was fairly sure Lucas wasn't coming down with a cold. 

"Lucas," she drawled, turning completely around in Michael's arms and pressing back against his warmth. Nikita felt Michael rest his chin against her temple and managed to give Lucas a come-hither stare. "We've been looking for you." 

Lucas blanched at her remark and he took a hesitant step backwards. 

"Have a drink with us," Michael invited, drawing away from Nikita and pulling her to a circular booth by one hand. 

Lucas rubbed his hand over his half-unbuttoned silk shirt, then pulled at the wisps of hair at his chin. "O-okay," he agreed, following quickly. 

Black leather creaked as Michael slid into the booth; Lucas hesitated until Nikita gently pressed him forward, her hands at his waist. She slid next to him and Lucas' head jerked back and forth as if he were at a tennis match. Nikita watched his Adam's apple bob when Michael slipped a muscled arm around Lucas' thin shoulders. His eyes went glassy as Nikita rubbed at his knee. 

"Hey, uh, you two buying?" he squeaked. 

"Yes." 

Lucas jumped at Michael's soft whisper in his ear and leaned forward to flag down a waitress. "Jack and coke," he ordered, glancing at Nikita, then Michael. 

"We're fine," Michael said. Lucas watched the waitress move away nervously. 

"We've had a good run, lately," Nikita said, moving her hand an inch up his thigh. "And you've been a big help to us." 

"We would like to thank you," Michael continued, his fingers moving slowly across Lucas' shoulder. 

"Hey, I thought you two were married and all that," Lucas blurted. Nikita observed his high color, the dilation of his eyes, the growing evidence of his arousal in a pair of truly ugly checked pants. 

"We are," Michael murmured. 

"But we don't mind sharing," Nikita finished. She moved her hand higher. 

Lucas blinked and his expression underwent a change, from fear to a smug leer in a matter of seconds. "So you two want some of this, do you? You're in for a _real_ good time..." Nikita repressed a grimace as Lucas' lips fastened themselves on her neck. Michael rescued her by pressing closer to Lucas and drawing the younger man's attention. 

"We want you, but we aren't patient," Michael said quietly. He grabbed at Lucas' chin and pulled the man so close that Michael's breath ruffled the target's greasy hair. "Come with us. Now." 

************ 

If Lucas doesn't keep his hands where they belong, Nikita thought, he'll be minus a few fingers. What the hell. I'll take care of all his digits, while I'm at it, and maybe some appendages. 

"Where are we going?" Lucas asked again, turning his attention away from Nikita. Michael's eyes didn't leave the road as he drove the rented car down a dark street. Lucas squeezed Michael's thigh and leaned closer. "Hey, are you listening to me?" 

"We don't know," Nikita answered instead, rocking her crossed legs impatiently. "That's how it works. We'll find some abandoned building to use. Blankets are in the trunk." 

"But what if...you know...somebody comes along?" Lucas asked.. 

Michael finally spoke, turning his head briefly. "That's half the fun." 

Lucas chuckled and snuggled between the two Section operatives, sliding his arms around their shoulders. "The more time I spend with you two, the more I like you." 

"We're glad," Michael deadpanned. 

"Yeah, I'm sure you _will_ be," Lucas said, squeezing them closer to his thin body. 

"What about this one, Michael?" Nikita said suddenly, recognizing the building from their hasty reconnaissance. 

"Perfect," Michael answered, pulling the sedan over and cutting the motor. "Let's go." 

Lucas followed Nikita out of the car, while Michael unlocked the trunk and slung the bundle of blankets under one arm. Nikita led the way into the decrepit building, moving slowly and gawking to make it appear she had never been there. 

"'Kita," Michael called. She hung back in the doorway while Lucas stepped inside. Michael pressed close to her and Nikita tugged her gun free from the folds of the blanket. Lucas turned around at the click of her gun, echoed by Michael's piece as he dropped the blanket to the ground. 

He immediately upraised his hands and stumbled backwards. "Hey, what's going on?" His eyes darted around the warehouse, trying to find an escape route. "You two aren't kinky like _that_ , are you?" 

Michael stepped through the door, his movements sleek and controlled. A cold mask had dropped over his features and he moved to the left so Nikita could enter behind him. Her blue eyes were flinty and she rubbed at her neck in disgust. 

"We need some information from you, Lucas," Michael said softly. 

"Normally I charge people for that," Lucas joked, his voice an octave higher than normal. "Why should I tell you for free?" 

"Isn't it obvious?" Nikita drawled, raising her gun to aim it at his forehead. "If you aren't cooperative, we're going to hurt you." 

"And when I tell you?" Lucas demanded, the whites of his eyes glowing in the darkness. "What happens then?" 

Nikita walked forward swiftly and pressed the snout of her gun against his forehead. "I wouldn't worry about that," she told him sweetly. "Worry about what will happen if you _don't_." 

************ 

"So what happens after this, Michael?" Nikita asked softly as Michael parked the car outside another warehouse. 

His sculpted lips parted in a soft exhalation and he turned his head, catching her eyes for a long moment. "We return to Section." 

"Immediately?" 

"Yes." 

Nikita propped her chin in her palm and absent-mindedly surveyed the area. "We won't be able to say good-bye to Tracy and George, or Lydia..." 

"Nikita," Michael said softly, bringing his hand up to caress her eyebrow. Leather creaked softly as his callused thumb brushed across her skin. "It's time." 

In other words, Nikita thought, don't look back. 

Nikita swallowed the knot of regret in her throat nodded; they exited the car together, shutting their car doors quietly. They walked together into the Red Fist headquarters, hips swinging in a powerfully synchronized step. 

Black-clad guards stepped out of the shadows near the entrance, but didn't pat them down. They were escorted down a hallway with flickering fluorescent lights and crumbling concrete, with Nikita in the lead. 

Nikita's lips quirked in a dry smile as she realized how much the inner workings of the terrorist headquarters mirrored Section. There was a bank of computers, some hastily-constructed office blocks. The only thing it was missing was an eyrie. 

Oh, gawd, Nikita thought. If the leader of Red Fist is anything like Operations, Michael will have to run interference in a _big_ way. 

Nikita came to a stop when a guard's meaty hand caught her shoulder. Michael was guided to stand next to her. She flicked her eyes at his profile and saw his green eyes narrow slightly. 

"This is the pair that I've heard so much about?" 

Nikita swung her head around and saw a short, stocky man standing next to Martin Nelson. She blinked. He _still_ looked like Tom Skerrit. Nikita held back a shiver. Ever since she had inadvertently viewed the movie, _Poison Ivy_ , on a sleepless weeknight, Tom Skerrit gave her the shivers. She had never watched _USA Up All Night_ again. 

Having Nelson's beady eyes fixed on Michael wasn't helping things, either. 

The Tom Skerrit look-alike stepped forward and extended his hand to Michael. "Michael, is it? I'm Harding." 

"I'm Nikita," she interjected when Michael silently dropped his arm, holding her hand out to Harding palm-down. 

His lips quirked under his graying mustache and he took her hand in his own. She felt his cool lips on her knuckles and his dry skin under her palm, holding back another shiver. Nikita took a step closer to Michael under her arm brushed against his muscled bicep. His familiar warmth calmed her nerves. 

"I understand you have something for me?" Harding asked 

Michael slipped his hand inside his leather jacket and withdrew a video tape. "Lucas was very forthcoming." 

Nikita grinned and hugged Michael's right arm to her body. They hadn't actually killed Lucas; Madeline had altered the profile. The greasy-haired panderer of kiddie-porn had only received a few punches and a knock-out drug after he had spilled all the relevant information. 

Madeline had him now, Nikita thought. Surely that was a thing _worse_ than death. 

Harding reached for the tape greedily. "I trust you were persuasive." 

Martin Nelson chuckled next to the stocky leader of Red Fist. "Oh, they're _very_ persuasive." He slipped his hands into the pockets of his navy suit and slanted Michael a grin. 

Oh, I could have lived the rest of my life without seeing that, Nikita thought as the tip of Nelson's tongue appeared at the corner of his mouth. 

"Shall we watch?" 

************ 

Harding turned on his heel and walked quickly to one corner containing a mess of audio-visual equipment. He popped the tape into one of the VCRs and images flickered to life on the bank of monitors. Harding pressed the fast-forward button with one finger, standing with his arm outstretched to view the picture. He stepped away from the VCR and the tape resumed normal speed as Nikita watched herself move the muzzle of her gun from Lucas' forehead to under his chin. 

Harding gestured them all forward and Nikita held loosely to Michael's arm as the four gathered around the monitors. On the screen, Michael was securing Lucas into chains handing from a rafter, pulling the greasy man to his tiptoes. 

"What do you want to know?" Lucas' voice was off, the distance of the camera warping the sound. 

Nikita stepped forward and traced the muzzle of her gun with her left forefinger, moving slowly closer to Lucas. "We were given to understand...that you know quite a bit about a group called Red Fist." 

"Yeah, I know a little." 

Michael's black-clad leg blurred through the air, contacting with Lucas' head and jangling the chains. He took a step forward, his stance loose, and grabbed Lucas by the chin with his lean fingers. 

"Speak only when directed," Michael murmured, staring directly into Lucas' white-rimmed eyes. "Do you understand?" 

"Yes," Lucas gurgled, falling lax against the chains when Michael released him. 

Nikita's attention was jerked from the video by a soft chuckle. Over Michael's shoulder, she saw Nelson rubbing his lips with his fingers, a wide smile creasing his face. Nikita couldn't tear her gaze away as she watched Nelson's reactions to their interrogation session with Lucas. He smirked at every blow, chuckled at every confession. After a few more minutes of tape had played out, Nelson must have felt her gaze; he turned slightly and winked. 

Nikita's eyes fled from his unctuous demeanor and sought out Michael's profile to erase the oily taste from her mouth. He was staring ahead coldly, posture perfect. But her eyes caressed the slight stubble across his cheeks, softening his strong jaw, the faint laugh lines at the corner of his eye. 

He was still her Michael. Just a little...buried. 

"How did you dispose of the body?" Harding asked suddenly, his head cocked and eyes glued to the screen. 

"We have a...friend...that supplies cadavers to certain medical institutions," Michael replied quietly. 

"Hmm," Harding mulled, slanting Michael an evaluating glance. "A no-questions-asked friend?" 

Michael waited a beat before speaking. "Of course." 

"We hate to be immodest," Nikita said slyly. "But we know what we're doing." "Undoubtedly," Nelson told her. "I have some other footage of their work, sir, if you'd like to see it?" 

Harding waved toward the VCR and smiled faintly. "By all means. I'm very impressed with what I've seen so far." He turned and patted Michael on the shoulder. "After we watch this, I'd like to discuss the terms of your contract," he broke off and grinned. "Assuming you two are still interested, of course." 

"Oh, we're interested, all right," Nikita reassured him, propping her chin on Michael's shoulder playfully. Michael's forearm suddenly tensed beneath her hand, and Nikita's eyes were drawn to the screens. 

Why did the camera add ten pounds to me and not Michael? was her first thought. 

************ 

"I told you they were persuasive," Nelson murmured, gazing raptly at the bank of monitors. Harding was staring at the silent picture with a bemused look on his face. 

On the screen, Nikita could see herself. Nude. Her long legs were wrapped around Michael's waist, her hands clutching his broad shoulders. They were in the center of their bed, blue sheets in disarray around them. Michael was kneeling, one hand cupping her buttock, the other pressed flat against her back. Muscles rippled as Michael lifted his hips, his strong arms pulling her closer. His hand slipped up to caress the back of her neck, tunneling through her hair. 

There was no audio. But then, there was no need. 

Nikita watched her counterpart on the screen as her head reared back, watched as Michael's reddened mouth nibbled at the sweat-sheened skin on her neck. 

Despite the situation, Nikita found herself responding to Michael's image on the screen, his cinnamon hair damp and curling. The way his skin was flushed with exertion, the erotic grace of his every move. 

I'm jealous of myself, Nikita thought. Intensely jealous. 

She tore her eyes away from the screen and grinned at Nelson, fighting to stay in character. It wasn't as difficult as she expected; after the grief she had taken from other operatives after the Armel mission, being presented with a surveillance video of her and Michael doing the horizontal mambo -- or the _vertical_ mambo -- was no big deal. 

"What is this, a montage? Our greatest hits?" she asked brightly. 

I wish I had some gum to snap, Nikita thought. 

Michael slipped his right arm around Nikita's waist and tugged her closer. He turned his head and Nikita found that the laugh lines were crinkled around his pale eyes. "Can we have a copy?" Michael asked Nelson, lifting his head. 

Nelson blinked and stopped the video, a line appearing between his eyebrows. "Very persuasive," he muttered. 

Sorry, Nelson, Nikita thought. Madeline has a hard time ruffling our feathers; the surprise psychological trauma award won't be going to you _this_ year. 

"Enough of this, Nelson," Harding spoke up. He gestured for Michael and Nikita to follow him and started walking away. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you into my office and we can get your contract hashed out." He turned around and added as an after-thought, "This building is the main headquarters for the Atlantic seaboard. I hope you understand what that implies..." 

Harding halted in his tracks as sounds of muted gunfire spilled into the building. Nikita's comm-link crackled to life in her ear and she heard Birkoff relaying tactical information to the Section team on-site. 

"What the hell?" Harding blurted, shouldering Nelson aside as he strode towards the entrance. Black-clad Section ops suddenly emerged from all entrance points in the building, masks covering their faces and guns held at the ready. 

"We've been betrayed," Nelson ground out, his hands raised high. 

"You said it yourself, Nelson," Nikita quipped, grinning fiercely as two operatives clamped their meaty hands onto his shoulders. "We're _very_ persuasive." 

************ 

Nikita opened her eyes as Michael parked the Section van outside of Van Access. The silence between them had been a tangible thing, a wealth of issues from the past weeks that needed to be resolved. Nikita had scrunched down in her seat and wished that Section had thought to install FM radios in the vans. 

She should have known better than to wait for Michael to bring up the topic of _what now_...what things would be like post-suburban bliss. 

Nikita _also_ knew that her mood would have been better if she could have gotten the image of Michael asking for a copy of the tape Nelson had made out of her head. Or the image of Michael _on_ that tape... 

Nikita clambered out of the van and followed Michael into the corridor at Van Access; in spite of her sullen anger, her eyes were fixed on the taut curves of Michael's leather-covered rear. 

Mother Teresa would've pinched that butt, Nikita found herself thinking as the outer door creaked shut behind her. 

"Is there a problem?" she asked when Michael didn't move to punch in his access code. He spun around on one booted heel and backed up to the corner containing the surveillance camera. Michael unsheathed his boot knife and extended him arm upwards to sever the wire. 

"Michael, what are you doing?" 

This can't be happening, Nikita thought. 

But it was... 

He sheathed the gleaming and took a fluid step forward. Then another. Nikita tried to back up, but her shoulder bumped against the metal wall. 

"I'm trying to persuade you," he said quietly. His next step brought his pectoral muscles in contact with her leather minidress. The rest of his body was tantalizingly close; his subtle scent teased her nose. 

"To do what?" Nikita asked, staring determinedly at his strong neck. 

His hand rose, knuckles brushing her breast on its way to tip up her chin. "To let me take advantage of you." His eyes were blue-tinged and bright. He wanted her. 

Now. 

Her pulse leapt into overdrive at his devouring gaze. Anger flared swiftly into desire. 

"Michael," Nikita murmured, falling back to press against the wall and pulling his hips with her. 

"What?" he breathed, his pale eyes mapping her face. 

"Hurry." 

There wasn't much time. The back-up team would arrive quickly; sanitizing an area wasn't a lengthy process. 

Michael's hands tightened at her hips and he dropped his head down to nuzzle the cleavage exposed by the low neck of her dress. Nikita pressed her head back against the chill metal wall as Michael flicked his tongue down the curve of her breast. He nibbled his way up her neck, leaving a path of flushed and gleaming skin. Nikita dredged her fingers up from his hips and over his back, tangling them in Michael's cinnamon hair to pull him towards her mouth. 

Their lips met, tongues tentatively sliding against each other. Nikita suckled Michael's full lower lip, scraping it lightly with her teeth. Michael retaliated by fitting his hard body to her own, and opening his mouth wider in hunger. He tilted his head and the kiss became frantic, each trying to taste...to bite...to inhale the essence of the other. Stubble rasped. Leather creaked softly. 

Nikita moaned into Michael's mouth when she felt his hands at the hem of her skirt. She wiggled away from the wall an inch to help him, her own fingers tugging the silk shirt from his leather pants and gliding up Michael's muscled ribcage. His fingernails scraped up her thigh and Nikita jerked against him, exhaling in a soft gasp as he pulled her leg up and wrapped it around his hip. 

Nikita rang her fingernails down Michael's chest and over his ridge abdomen to tangle at the snap of his leather pants. She forced her vision to stop blurring from Michael's proximity and managed to get the zipper down. His hands covered hers as she eagerly peeled the leather away from his skin. 

When the leather was bunched at the tops of his heavily muscled thighs, Michael slid his hands up her ribcage and lifted her into the air. Nikita wrapped her legs around his waist. She grunted as Michael bit her neck and eased her down onto his arousal. 

Nikita let go of her control as Michael's hips began rocking, his arms wrapped possessively around her body. She grew mindless with desire and raked her fingernails across his back, reveling in the rough silk feel of his body where she could touch him. 

They strained together, craving everything, breath intermingling. Familiar as husband and wife, and yet almost strangers again, in a desperate limbo between one world and the next... 

************ 

Nikita's arms tightened around Michael's neck as he gently nuzzled her neck, the flare of passion banked to a slow, liquid burn. Leather creaked and rubbed as both released their tight grip on the other; they shared a low groan as their joined bodies parted. Michael leaned in to kiss her as Nikita tugged the leather back in place over his hips, his lips a coral-colored temptation. 

"Nikita," he murmured in her ear, a tongue circling the outer shell. "Pull down your dress or we'll never leave." 

Nikita's blue eyes fluttered and she reached down immediately to tug at her hem, suddenly recalling where they were and what they had done. 

They had exactly forty-five seconds to compose themselves and readjust clothing before there was the familiar sound of a Section-built exhaust system entering the parking garage. Michael gave Nikita cursory glance, tucking her hair back in place while she straightened his shirt. 

"Ready?" At her nod, Michael punched in his code with the same composed complacency that Nikita now wore. 

Despite the fact that her knees were so rubbery she wasn't sure if she could walk... 

Despite the fact that she wanted to slam Michael against the opposite wall and demand a repeat performance... 

And despite the fact that she knew he'd be more than ready to oblige... 

They emerged from Van Access in a synchronized step, Section masks firmly in place. A few operatives did double-takes as Michael and Nikita prowled through Section's hallways, disturbed by the pair's disheveled appearance. 

The back-up team arrived only moments later. 

At Comm, they split ways without a second glance, wholly aware of the other. Nikita strolled over to Birkoff's station and placed a companionable hand on the computer genius' shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Michael climb towards Operations' eyrie, where the white-haired leader of Section One was deep in conversation with Madeline. 

"Hey, Birkoff," Nikita greeted. "Did you miss me?" 

"Things just aren't the same without you bugging me, Nikita," Birkoff said dryly. 

Nikita watched Michael's dark form disappear inside the eyrie and squeezed Birkoff's shoulder. "Someday, Seymour, you'll learn to appreciate me." 

"I'm holding my breath." 

Nikita chuckled and drifted out of Comm towards Walter's station until Madeline called her in to debrief, something the sable-eyed woman always did after an extended mission. Especially an extended mission involving her and Michael. 

"Hey, Sugar. You look -" Walter broke off as his eyes traveled from the top of her mussed head to the toes of her high-heeled feet. "You look like you've been a bad girl," Walter drawled, the side of his mouth kicking up in a lascivious grin. 

Nikita collapsed bonelessly on a wheeled chair in Walter's area, propping her chin in her hand and slanting Walter a naughty grin. "You don't know the half of it." She raised her hand as Walter opened her mouth, halting his words. "And I'm not telling." 

"Okay," Walter sighed, shaking his grizzled head and picking up a circuit board. "But you might want to cover up that hickey on your neck before you see Madeline." 

Nikita's fingers flew to her neck and brushed down her sensitized skin, feeling the abraded bit of skin beneath the pads of her fingers. Her face heated as she wondered what other visual cues Michael had left on her skin that marked her as his. 

"Thanks, Walter. I owe you one." 

His eyebrows waggled suggestively. "Good thing I wore a turtleneck today," he chuckled, pulling down the neck of his shirt. "I'd like a hickey right here, please." 

************ 

Nikita smoothed her hair back from her forehead in a nervous motion as she seated herself in front of Madeline's desk. She had showered. Changed. Applied make-up and cover-up. And yet...Nikita still felt feminine. Like Michael was hers, and she his. Even the rebellious streak in her nature had liked Michael's rash and foolhardy actions. 

All in all, it had been a delicious way to be marked as private property. Much better than the way animals marked territory. With urine. 

"Operations was pleased with your performance," Madeline commented softly, her brown eyes reserved and watchful. 

Nikita maintained her silence and clasped her palms over one crossed knee. Her defenses automatically slammed up against Madeline's insidious methods of attack. 

When in doubt, Nikita thought, change the subject. 

"Did the feed in Nelson's house produce anything useful?" 

"Yes, actually," Madeline said. "Your placement of the equipment helped us accelerate the timeline." 

Nikita nodded, watching Madeline's cool expression from underneath her eyelashes. "Has the house been sanitized?" 

"A team is working on it now." 

"What will you tell our neighbors?" 

Madeline blinked, her face hardening imperceptibly underneath a layer of smooth skin. "What is your concern, Nikita?" 

"I just think the story you feed them should be believable. If you find it necessary, I can compose a letter to Tracy and George Ramsey. They might not be satisfied with a cover story about a sick relative in France." 

"I'll keep that in mind," Madeline said graciously. The older woman paused for a moment and Nikita prepared herself for a subject change. "I understand that it might be...difficult...for you to readjust after this assignment." 

"Readjust?" 

You'd better believe it, Nikita thought. I'm no longer going to be Mrs. Christophe. With a handsome and attentive husband who comes home to me. I won't have normal friends. I'll be burning buildings instead of cookies. 

"Yes. I'm giving you a few days of down time." 

Sure, Madeline. Weeks of semi-normal married life will be erased in two days, and I'll be as good as new. 

"I appreciate it," Nikita said, managing to sound almost pleasant. 

"Oh, and Nikita," Madeline said, raising her voice slightly. 

Nikita turned, halfway to the stairs in Madeline's sterile office. "Yes, Madeline?" 

"On the VISA bill, there are a number of charges." 

Nikita cleared her throat and ducked her head. "Yeah, for Girl Scout cookies." 

"Cookies?" 

"We were obliged to buy them to maintain our cover," Nikita said sweetly. 

"I see." 

************ 

"Birkoff, I need a favor." 

"Whatever it is, no," Birkoff answered, his fingers flying over the keyboard. 

"C'mon, Seymour," Nikita wheedled, kneading his tense shoulders. 

"You're down, Nikita, go home," Birkoff said, sending his wheeled chair flying away with a kick to the ground. Another split keyboard clacked as he called up a scrolling window. 

"It's only a little favor," Nikita continued, propping her hip against the gray table and leaning in front of the computer nerd. 

"What is it, Nikita?" Birkoff sighed in defeat, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

"I think some material was retrieved from Martin Nelson's home..." 

"And?" 

"I want to know where it is." 

"Why?" Birkoff asked with characteristic obtuseness. 

Nikita raised an eyebrow and stared at the young man. A flush rose up from his neck after a moment and he discreetly coughed into his palm. 

"Never mind. It's better if I don't know, right?" 

"Right," Nikita drawled. 

"Ask Walter," Birkoff said quickly, turning back to his console. "He has contacts in Stores." 

"Thanks, Birkoff," Nikita said, standing and pressing a kiss to the top of his shorn head. "You're sweet, no matter what Ariana says." 

"Ariana? From R&D?" 

"Yeah," Nikita said over her shoulder as she stepped off the dais in Comm. "She thinks you're a bad boy at heart." 

Birkoff's lips curved into a smile as he watched Nikita saunter around the corner towards Munitions. 

"Walter! Just the man I wanted to see," Nikita exclaimed, leaning seductively against the wall in the older man's area. 

"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd come to your senses, Sugar," Walter rasped. "What," he chuckled, "what can I do you for?" 

Nikita leaned forward and tweaked Walter's brick red bandanna. "What you can do for me...is point towards someone in Stores...who might be sympathetic enough to let me look through some recovered material." 

"Oh," Walter murmured, nodding slightly. A silver ring danced in his ear as he turned his head and stared up at Nikita from under his eyebrows. "What's in it for me?" 

Nikita slid her hands onto Walter's shoulders, moving her palms up to cup his jaw. She leaned in and pressed two kisses to Walter's seamed cheeks. 

"You know you can't remove anything from Stores," Walter said immediately, flashing Nikita a grin. 

"Yes." Nikita drew herself up to her full height and kissed him on the forehead. 

"C'mon. I'll take you down there." 

************ 

Michael entered his office, muscles aching and eyes burning. He passed his hand over the bridge of his nose as he crossed the floor to his chair, unbuttoning his leather jacket as he sat. Michael moved his chair forward to start writing his report, shoulders bowed slightly from the latest mission. 

Operations and Madeline had not given him time to change after bringing in Nelson and Harding before they sent Michael back out into the field. It seemed they were making up for lost time. 

Something rustled against Michael's knee as he tucked his legs under his desk. He continued typing on his lap top, risking a glance down at his leg. A slip of plain white paper was sticking out slightly. Michael continued typing with his right hand and pulled the paper out from under his desk, unfolding it. 

_"Waiting at home."_

It was Nikita's handwriting. Michael recognized it from all the little notes she had left for him around the house so he wouldn't worry. He slipped the note into his pocket, his fingers moving more swiftly over the keys. He did not allow himself to betray his relief, did not let the sharp stab of emotion reach his face. Regardless, he soon found himself sending the report, buttoning his jacket, and locking his office door. 

Lights glowed softly around Section as he made his way to the elevator. Few people were around due to the hour; even Birkoff had retreated from his station. Michael punched in his code, his heart beating a little faster with anticipation as he stepped into the elevator. A small smile graced his face as he made his way to his motorcycle, something he had kept from the mission. When the weather was warm, he liked to ride one of his bikes to work rather than drive his car. 

Sometimes Walter broke out his Harley and joined him. They lived in the same area. 

Michael hesitated at the intersection, one booted foot planted on the road. Straight ahead was the way to Nikita's apartment. His eyes glanced up to catch the leaping, golden angel at the center of the traffic circle. 

Where would Nikita be? 

When the light changed, Michael turned right. Towards the place where they had always been honest with each other... 

He cut the motor in the drive and wheeled his motorcycle under the gate, treading softly in the darkness. Michael tucked his helmet under his arm and pulled back the door to his apartment, punching in the alarm code with one leather glove stripped off. He set his helmet and gloves on a chair in the hall, smiling at the silk stockings that were draped over the back, and followed the flickering lights into the main area of his loft. 

A box of Thin Mints lay on its side on his kitchen counter. Opened and half gone. She had left a sprinkling of crumbs. He kept going deeper. 

Candles were everywhere, lending a soft glow that made his bare apartment seem more like a home. There were colorful pillows strewn on the floor over a thick pile of blankets. They weren't his. She must have brought them with her. 

Frozen on his television, propped against a support beam in the center of the room, was a surveillance video from the mission. Leather creaked as Michael crouched down in front of the television and traced his fingers across the screen, over Nikita's sleeping form. They were snuggled together in bed, blankets tucked in, arms and legs entangled spoon-fashion. Peacefully sleeping. 

A soft sound made him turn, fingers still brushing the screen. Nikita stood in the hallway, wearing his blue robe. Her hair was down and she was frozen in the act of rubbing it dry with a towel. 

"Hi," Michael said softly, his eyes rippling up her figure. 

"Hi." She stood on one foot awkwardly and rubbed the back of her leg with her bare toes. 

Michael rose in one smooth movement and slowly moved towards her, his boots echoing softly on the hardwood floor. Nikita remained frozen, not even fluttering an eyelash as he made his way to her. At arm's length, he stopped. His hand came up and Michael curled his fingers under her chin. 

"Why is this awkward?" he asked gently. "It's just us." 

Nikita's lips parted in a sigh. 

Michael's hand moved from under her chin and he traced his index finger over her clean-scrubbed face. He lingered over her eyebrows and her full lips, his pale eyes intent upon the task of memorizing. 

"Beautiful," he murmured finally. 

Her eyes closed. 

Michael's head dipped down and he brushed his lips across hers. He flicked his tongue along the seam of her lips and they parted in welcome. He slipped his hands along her cheekbones as he angled his head, gently caressing her mouth, relearning her taste. Michael released her from the kiss and brushed his thumbs over her eyebrows, pulling her forward to press his lips against her forehead reverently. 

He gathered her in his arms, pressing her lithe body to his own. He buried his nose in her damp hair and breathed in as her arms slipped around his waist under his jacket. 

"I'm glad you came home," Nikita murmured into his neck. 

Michael pulled back slightly, eyes a pearly shade of green, and ran his knuckles down her neck. "Nikita, you are my home." 

Then he smiled and threaded his fingers with hers, pulling her back towards the pillows and the picture of their sleeping forms. 

"Come to bed, 'Kita."


End file.
